


Perseides

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse has come.  Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two.  Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare.  When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him.  Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

**Title:** Salvation (Perseides, Chapter 1 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.  
 **Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come and gone. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and then rent our world in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, a tough ex-cop, risks everything to search for him.  
 **Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

Cas sat and watched the lights skittering across the desert horizon like low flying shooting stars.

If he looked up, he could occasionally see a real shooting star. It was the time of year for the Perseid meteor shower. He studied the night sky. They said his people had come from up there. But even if the stories were true, he had been too young to remember. He put a hand up, as if he were reaching out to touch the stars. 

He gripped his night vision binoculars, holding them to his chest. His eyes were keen without them, but he had picked them up in a recent salvage, and thought they were cool. Human made. He ran a hand over the smooth metallic surface. 

Cas smiled to himself, thinking how much of what he knew about the human world came from what he knew about their scrap.

He scanned the low morning sky. Early mornings like these were the times they made a run for it, hopping over the wall in small winged vehicles, fleeing Lucifer. Sometimes they made it. Often, maybe more often, they did not, and then Singer Salvage would collect a new prize.

He took up the binocs and watched a lone light hurtle through the darkness. This one was very strange, very strange indeed: it was headed in the wrong direction. Who tried to make a run on the wall? Who wanted into Lucifer’s dread kingdom?

Brave little light, he thought. So many ships didn't make it across, their light extinguished forever, the fragile human inside extinguished. 

He sat forward. He didn’t see or hear anything, rather he just sensed it, pulling with those other senses the humans didn’t seem to possess, or at least didn’t seem to know how to muster.

Cas turned the binoculars westward, searching for something. There. Artillery fire coming from the wall. Someone else had spotted the light. His light. 

Cas switched his focus back to the ship that was desperately trying to make it across No Man’s Land. Even though it would cost him a potentially valuable job, he started urging it on, praying for it to make it. _Come on. Dodge the bullets. You can make it._

The craft took evasive action, dodging left and right. Good, his guy could fly. Maybe he could make it?

Funny, now that he was looking at it under magnification, he saw it had the markings of a police cruiser. Their cops had no business here in No Man’s Land. Had someone jacked a cruiser and gone for a joy ride? That was kind of a cool notion. 

But here came another barrage. He saw the orange shower of sparks on a stubby starboard wing, and sensed the desperation of the pilot, who was probably fighting with the unresponsive controls. He needn’t have bothered. 

As the craft went into its fatal dive, Cas was already tearing off his jacket. And then he was winged.

He had the marker in the ground as soon as he alit. Singer Salvage: blue with a small pentagram. Bobby’s little joke. This area was now theirs. That was the rule out here: first claim gets the salvage. Bobby was used to having his pick. Let the demon outfits try their spells; no one was faster than Cas. 

He shrugged back into his jacket. No use flaunting the wings, especially out here. Sometimes you’d run into a rival outfit that was harboring … jealousy. Usually no problem for Cas, but he really wasn’t in the mood for smiting anyone tonight. 

He spotted the first piece of burning wreckage a few paces away. He hunkered down to take a look. Yes, it was definitely some kind of police cruiser. That was weird. It looked like the craft had been flying low enough that damage wasn’t too extensive. Flying low: Cas had been right, this had been a smart pilot. The cruiser had broken into three main sections: the tail, the fuselage with broken wing fins, and the cockpit, which had held together like it was supposed to in a crash. There might be more than scrap metal out of this one. That was good. There was always a hunger for spare parts out here.

He gave the burning fuselage a wide berth for now, the flames throwing a weird shadow across the wasteland as he passed. Cas was fairly impervious to fire, but you never knew when something might spark a fuel tank and cause a big boom. He walked on until he was even with the cockpit, which was aflame as well. He wasn't thinking on bothering with the fire extinguisher, even though he had one in his pack. Usually the best course was to let stuff burn itself out overnight. There wasn't much out here to damage, even if you got an explosion or two. 

He placed another Singer Salvage marker at more or less the cockpit end of the trail of wreckage. He didn't technically need to mark the entire perimeter, but you couldn't be too careful. Especially not with the Mammonites and their ilk out here.

Cas turned suddenly, now facing the wreck.

The sense of desperation suddenly burned through him.

The pilot – he was still alive in there.

He was on the flaming wreckage in one leap, hands at the hatch release lever. He pried with his whole body, but the fucking thing was stuck. He peered in, but couldn't see anything: the dome was stupid one way glass. Of course, it was a cop cruiser! Well, he'd have to do it the hard way then. He gritted his teeth and, while the flames licked around him, put one hand on either side and twisted. The entire carapace popped off, but he overbalanced he fell down along with it, crashing on his back in the dirt.

Cursing, he threw it off him and scrambled back up. There he was, the pilot, lying still in his seat, half unbuckled, probably overcome from all the smoke. Cas crouched and extended his hands, gripping him tight under the armpits and then, without even bothering to unstrap him, wrenched him out. This time he fell in the dirt with the pilot on top of him. 

“Hey, you OK?” He didn’t really expect a response. It was a young looking human, maybe only a few years older than himself. And, to Cas’ surprise, he was dressed in a cop uniform. Why would a cop steal his own cop cruiser? Weird. Well, definitely the most interesting salvage job he’d had in a while.

“We’ll get you back home,” he told the unconscious cop, once again whipping off his jacket.

And then they were gone to the soft sound of wingbeats.

 

Dean awoke to a face pressed inches from his own.

“He’s up!” came a low voice. Sepulchral. _Am I dead_ , thought Dean.

“Give him some damn air, boy!” came a much more human sounding voice. 

Dean blinked. The face receded. “Is he all right, Bobby?” asked the deeper voice.

“Quit the damn hovering, Cas. Go! Sit!”

Dean tried to focus his eyes, blinking even in the dim light. He attempted to sit up, and found arms pressing him down. “Now, take it easy. Take it easy, son,” said the more comforting voice. Dean felt himself settled back on something. He squinted, looking around. This sure as hell wasn’t a hospital. It looked like somebody’s living room. Though it was crazy: there were books piled everywhere. They seemed to be using a pile of books as an end table.

“So, Officer … Winchester is it?” asked the guy sitting next to him. Dean let his gaze fall on the guy for a minute. Fifty-something, maybe sixty, scraggly beard, ball cap, eyes that had seen everything. He decided he liked this guy, though he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“Uh. Dean is OK,” said Dean. His voice was scratchy as hell.

“Cas! Make yourself useful. Get some water, dammit.” Dean’s tried to focus on the shadowy figure across the room, but he had darted out already. “OK, Dean,” the guy said to him. “I’m Bobby. You remember anything about what happened?”

“Before or after I got my ass shot down?” he asked.

The old guy guffawed. “How about after?”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his head. A fire! And he couldn’t escape. Flames all around him. Smoke burning his lungs. 

Dean suddenly saw a glass of water stuck in his face. “Cas! Don’t fucking drown him!” scolded Bobby, grabbing the glass. “Back!” he ordered, and once again the figure retreated across the room. As Bobby helped Dean sit upright so he could sip the water, Dean looked over at Cas. He was a skinny kid, maybe around Sammy’s age, maybe a little younger, a splay of tangled black hair in his face, and the bluest eyes Dean thought he had ever seen. 

And one big, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Is he alive? Is he in possession of his facilities? Did I save him?” The voice did not match the kid at all. It was from someone … well, a hell of a lot bigger and older. Maybe he would grow into it?

“Yep. You saved him Cas,” said Bobby. “Oh, get your shoes off the furniture!”

“Not wearing shoes, Bobby.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You’re the one who pulled me out?” Dean asked Cas.

“I raised you from the fiery perdition,” Cas told him, eyes burning blue fire.

“Cas, quit bein’ fucking dramatic,” laughed Bobby, which only got Cas to grin wider.

“Well, thanks, dude,” said Dean. “Though….” He thought back. “My canopy. It was jammed. How the fuck…?”

“Yes, I had to pull it off,” Cas explained, as if it were no big deal. “The whole thing.”

“Wait!” said Dean, who was woozy, but not that woozy. “You don’t just pull a fucking canopy off one of those babies. You….” He was at a loss. 

Bobby was grinning now. “You don’t know, do you?” he asked Dean.

“Don’t know what?” asked Dean.

“Cas here … he’s an angel. He does weird ass shit like walk into fires and pull open cruiser canopies.”

“Wait. This is an angel?” said Dean, staring at the ragged being crouched on the threadbare couch, grinning at him.

“What were you expecting? A damn harp?” asked Bobby.

“But…” sputtered Dean. “Angels don’t exist.”

“Oh, looks like we got ourselves an expert here,” Bobby told Cas. “So, Officer Winchester, you spend a whole lot of your time getting your ass saved by imaginary fucking beings?” asked Bobby.

“My mother believed,” said Dean. “And so does my brother. Did my brother. Does my brother.” He finished the water, wishing it were something a lot stronger.

“Do you need more water?” Dean blinked. Cas was suddenly in his face again, holding the empty glass.

“Cas!” said Bobby, jerking back a thumb. He seemed to treat Cas sort of the way you would a big, overly friendly dog, Dean thought. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, kid? You smell like a damn barbeque.”

Dean noticed for the first time that Cas’ clothes were pretty badly scorched, from his aircraft fire, he guessed. But he didn’t seem to be injured in any way himself. 

“OK, Bobby” said Cas, who was already on his way out the door.

“And then make yourself useful and get a load of my salvage!” Bobby yelled after him. “The boy would forget his head,” he sighed, more to himself than to Dean.

“That’s really an angel?” asked Dean.

“Well, from what I understand, those sort are more Nephilim than anything. But, yeah,” said Bobby. “You spent all your life in the Free States, I take it?”

Dean nodded. “Since I was a kid, anyway. My mom was killed in the Blitz. So Sammy – that’s my brother – and I found our way out.”

Bobby nodded. “Well, I dunno what they tell you folks in the Free States, but Cas is a refugee, like you. Only from Heaven.”

“Then … it was true? What my mom told us?”

“I dunno, son,” said Bobby, sitting back. “What did she tell you?”

“She told my brother and me, the lights coming down from the sky during the Blitz? Those were falling angels.”

“Pretty much,” said Bobby. “From what I understand, before Lucifer and Michael had it out down here, they burned down heaven. Quite a feud.” 

“They burned down heaven? That’s not possible!” said Dean.

“The residents – the ones left alive anyway – got out, and most of ‘em ended up out west somewhere, as refugees. I had some come through here too. My mamma, she taught me some angel lore as well. I put up the signs, and had some folks come to earth hereabouts, where I could give them a hand. Cas’ people, I guess they were on the last boat out of there. He was pretty small, so his brother left him with me, t’ bring up. Not that a body can do much in the matter of bringin’ up angels. ‘Specially if they’re pigheaded little shits.”

Dean sat up, though it made his head swim a little.

“You OK, there, Officer?” asked Bobby.

“You can quit calling me Officer,” sighed Dean, looking down at his singed police jacket. 

“I sorta figured as much. You seem to be a little AWOL, if I might say.”

“Yeah, I think this stunt pretty much got me resigned,” said Dean, shaking his head.

“You wanna tell me your story? Seeing as how you brought me the biggest salvage of the month. Not a lot of fools trying get into Lucy’s front yard like that.”

“I’m kind of a refugee myself. Like I said, our mom, she was killed in the Blitz. Don’t know what the hell ever became of our dad, so it’s just been Sammy and me.”

“Brother?”

“Yeah, my kid brother. I’m a cop. Well, I was a cop, and I thought he was headed for college. But he dropped out. He got it in his head that he needed to fly planes for the Teddy Roosevelt Brigade.”

“Supportin’ the Michaelistas, huh? Kid’s an idealist.” Bobby had wandered over to a cluttered desk and picked up a bottle and a couple of glasses, which he brought back over with him.

“Kid’s an idiot,” grumbled Dean. “That’s not our war.”

“You do realize what’s goin’ on, just over the border, out west?” asked Bobby, pouring out a couple of shots.

“I don’t know, and I don’t wanna know. I heard the rumors, no one's seen Michael in years.”

“That's what I've heard,” said Bobby.

“Yeah, so much for fighting for him. So, Sam’s plane disappeared over Arizona, and he’s now on a list of POWs.”

“So, you got it in your head you’re gonna hijack a police cruiser, cross over No Man’s Land into a war zone, and go bust him out? And you say he’s the idjit?” grinned Bobby, handing over a glass with a smile.

“Like I said, Bobby. He’s family. He’s all I got.”

“Well, lemme ask you this. You said you don’t believe in angels. What about demons?”

“More crap.” Dean downed his shot. It was like lighter fluid dipped in hot sauce. He choked, and then held out his glass for another shot.

“So, I take it you didn’t bother with any kind of magical incantations or nothin' to get your cruiser over the wall?” asked Bobby.

Dean frowned and shook his head.

“OK. You look like the kinda fellow who believes what he sees. And that’s good. But let me show you something. That is, if you figger you can walk?” Sitting down his shot glass, Dean gave himself a push, and with Bobby’s help, was up off the couch. The older man then led him outside, and then they were suddenly out in the middle of a pretty extensive salvage yard. Bobby led Dean to one side, bordered by a chain link fence topped by barbed wire. “That’s the wall, right over there,” said Bobby, pointing. He held up a pair of binoculars. “Now, you look over there, you tell me what you see?”

Dean shrugged and pointed the binoculars at the wall. He bobbled his balance a fraction, so Bobby just grabbed his arm to steady him. And then he focused, concentrating on the high expanse of concrete and razor wire just to the west.

He had expected it to just look like a blank wall, but it was nothing of the sort. It had so many markings, it actually looked … alive, somehow.

“What are…. What the hell are all those markings? Graffiti?” asked Dean.

“Now, who the hell you supposed would be fool enough to take a spray can to Lucy’s wall?” asked Bobby.

“Then what are they?” asked Dean, handing back the binoculars.

“Arcane symbols, sigils, fragments of Enochian. They’re there to prevent passage: angel, demon, human, all sorts of beings. There’s more that you can’t see, at least, our eyes can’t see. Cas could probably tell you. Or if you had a demon friend, which I wouldn’t recommend.”

“They’re to prevent us going in?”

“Us going in, them coming out. And then there’s more spells and magic, and more shit you probably don’t believe in, all up and down. Some as just to stop you, but a lot as do worse. I’ve seen men try to get over the wall end up with their skin peeled off, eyes boiled out of their head, heart just exploded.”

Dean shook his head at Bobby. It was too much to believe. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re damn lucky you crash landed, boy. You wanna get over that wall? Lucifer’s wall? You gotta know where, and you gotta know how.”

“I just.... I just wanna get my brother.”

“Well, my opinion? Plan A didn't work out so well. So, you might wanna start thinking on Plan B,” said Bobby. “And maybe C and D.”

 

Sam dragged into the bunkhouse and shambled into his room. He climbed into his upper bunk, his hair still wet from the shower, and flopped down into it. 

He stretched out his long legs. His feet and ankles, as they always did, hung over the end of the mattress.

“Rufus! This sucks!” he howled at his roommate.

He glanced over as he felt the pressure on his thin mattress. The dark-skinned older man was standing casually, one arm propped on Sam’s mattress, the other fingering the miniscule butt end of his hand rolled cigarette. Rufus could always seem to drag one last puff out of those things. The guards were dicks about getting them tobacco, even though Sam knew damn well it was included in the care packages. He had packed some of those boxes, just a year or so ago!

Rufus wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his eyes were cast out of the window. He brought the butt to his lips, and damned if he didn’t get one last drag. And then he let it flick down, a little orange firefly, crushing out the spark below his boot on the rough wooden floor. Sam knew enough now not to go barefoot, or even in stocking feet, on these rough, splintery floors. 

“You know what?” asked Rufus.

“What?” sighed Sam, settling his head back into his hard little pillow.

“There’s a poker game tonight,” said Rufus. He turned and started to saunter out of the room. He paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. He bobbed his head in a “come on” gesture towards Sam.

Sam frowned. Dean had taught him to play poker. Though Dean sucked as a player, Sam was pretty good. But he had never gotten an invitation to a game here before. 

He didn’t think it over much. His bed was uncomfortable as hell, and this might be interesting. Or at least not crushingly boring. He was down and was walking beside Rufus in little more than one graceful leap. He grabbed his hat and jacket from the bare hooks by the door, and they shuffled out into the cold night wind. Sam, shivering, pulled his thin wool jacket tighter. “What’s this place like in the winter?” he asked Rufus.

“Sucks,” smiled Rufus. “That’s the desert for you. Sucks ass, summer or winter. You get socks in a care pack? Keep ‘em. You’ll wear every damn layer.”

Sam cast a glance up at the high walls, topped by barbed wire, and bedecked with more arcane symbols and warding signs than he’d ever seen. Sam didn’t ask Rufus, because he’s asked a million times, whether it was to keep them inside, or keep something else outside. Rufus would inevitably smile mysteriously and say, “Maybe a little of both.”

It was different over here in the West, of that there was no doubt. Sam had his first hints at flight school. At first he’d thoughts pilots were just superstitious as hell, but then he’d sat and listened as the grizzled veterans (actually, guys just in their 30s, a lot of them) spent an entire evening arguing about whether a red-eyed demon or a black-eyed demon made the fiercest opponent in a dogfight. And then there had been literal hours of painting everybody’s plane with the correct sigils. Oh, and the guy who’d run into engine trouble and then found something called a hex bag stuffed under his seat. 

Sam had no opinion, red-eyed demons or jackal bones, but he’d become a believer pretty quickly after he’d landed here in enemy territory. His wingman had gotten shot down, and Sam, disobeying a direct order, had put his plane down nearby to try and help. The enemy soldiers who had showed up soon afterwards to greet him thought otherwise, and when their guns didn’t to the job of keeping Sam from charging into his buddy’s burning wreckage (which, thinking back, probably would have killed him), they suddenly morphed from unpleasant human guys to black-eyed freaks just to emphasize the point. Later he’d realized that had been his very first encounter with demons. It was not to be his last. He remembered Rufus’ oft-repeated quote: “Demons. You can’t trust ‘em. On the other hand, you can’t trust ‘em.”

He and Rufus had reached a bunkhouse at the far end of the camp. Sam had gathered from what Rufus and some of the other guys had said that this building housed the troublemakers, including guys who had somehow attempted escape, or even possibly escaped before. He wondered not for the first time how the hell they'd pulled off something like that. It seemed nothing, mortal nor immortal, could penetrate their prison walls.

Rufus led Sam directly to the common room, where a group of guys was seated around an improvised poker table: there were a lot of packing crates stacked here and there. He recognized a few faces: there was Ash from his bunkhouse. The guy was a bit of a doofus, but Sam liked him OK. And then Victor and Chuck were also from the west. Victor was a no bullshit kind of guy who Sam gathered was an ex-cop. Chuck by contrast was mousy as hell, and Sam had no idea how he’d ended up here.

And Frank. Sam tended to avoid Frank. He was not sitting at the poker table, but was off in a corner, gazing owlishly at all assembled.

One of the guys, one of the foreigners, looked up at them as they approached.

“Balthazar,” said Rufus, “Sam wants to join the game.”

Balthazar, a tall, slim handsome fellow who moved like a dancer, smiled merrily and said, “Camaus, do pull up a chair for our guest.” A small blond guy jumped up and pulled a milk crate next to Balthazar. Sam, who was a little nonplussed, sat down. Rufus remained standing nearby.

Balthazar, who had been dealing, took the pack and shuffled it. “Sam Winchester,” he said, arching an eyebrow, as if it were half a question, half a wry comment. 

Sam nodded. Despite all being more or less military personnel (Sam on the “less” side), it was such a mix of different services and nations, guys didn't go mentioning ranks much. 

“So, Rufus informs me that your mom used to tell you stories, back when you were a boy.”

“She died when I was pretty little,” said Sam, who was now utterly mystified by this line of questioning. “But, yeah.”

“What kind of things did she tell you?” asked Balthazar. He was now shuffling the cards elaborately, like some kind of sideshow magician.

“Well, one thing, that there were angels among us.”

“Angels?” asked Balthazar. And there was that merry look again. 

“Yeah, I mean, my brother never believed. But I did. I always did.”

“Do you really? Believe in magic?” asked Balthazar. He fanned out the cards on the table. 

Sam blushed, hearing Ash guffaw, and looked at the cards. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Well then,” said Balthazar. He sent a hand over the cards, flipping them over one way, and then the other. He fanned them out again. “So do I.”

Sam looked down at the deck. It was now, every card, ace of spades. He looked back at Balthazar, blinking in surprise.

“So, I also hear that you are growing impatient with Mr. Lucifer's … hospitality,” said Balthazar. He picked up the cards, and this time fanned them out in one hand and held it over to Sam. Sam picked a card. 

It was the joker.

“Well, I don't wanna seem ungrateful,” said Sam, “but, yeah, that wall out there is putting a crimp in my social calendar.”

“Lucy likes his walls,” said Rufus, who was leaning back against the wall, lighting yet another cigarette.

“But like all walls, where there is a will, there is a way,” said Balthazar. “Your card, Sam. Is it the king of diamonds?”

“No, it's-” But Sam paused, staring at the card. King of diamonds. He tossed the card on the table, hearing Rufus chuckle behind him.

Sam leaned forward. “Balthazar, you got yourself a player,” he said.

“Splendid!” said Balthazar. “Rufus, why are you standing around like a lump! Pull up a milk crate! We need to relieve this young man of some of his money.”

 

Dean had been sitting in the yard of Singer Salvage feeling sorry for himself for he wasn't sure how long.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as the giant tow truck rumbled up and blew its air horn at him.

“Cas, you son of a bitch!” he yelled up at the kid leaning out of the driver’s seat.

“Going to pick up your plane. What’s left of it. Wanna come?” Cas yelled down from the cab.

Dean looked up. “On one condition!”

“Yeah?”

“You let me drive.”

Cas grinned and popped open the driver side door. Then he scrambled over while Dean hoisted himself into the driver’s seat. Dean cheered up almost immediately, sitting behind the wheel. There was something about driving that always calmed him.

A couple miles up the road he glanced over at Cas, who was slouched in the passenger seat with his feet propped up on the dusty dashboard. Dean noticed he had donned boots, as Bobby had yelled at him to do. “You sure you OK with me driving?” asked Dean.

“You’re a good pilot, Dean. I figure you can drive a truck,” shrugged the angel. His voice really seemed about an octave too deep for his scrawny frame.

“I crashed my damn plane.”

“You successfully evaded the antiaircraft fire for quite some time. I found that impressive. Of course, Bobby probably told you why that would have sucked?” he asked, raising the bill of his ball cap so he could look at Dean.

“Sucks to be me, in general,” sighed Dean.

“Sucks to be you,” Cas cheerfully agreed. “In particular.”

They were silent for a while. “So, uh, you're an angel?” ventured Dean.

“That's what they say,” said Cas, raising and lowering his ball cap. He pushed his tangled bangs out of the way, but they just fell back. “Though this not existing thing you informed me about is upsetting.”

“OK, sorry about that,” said Dean.

“I guess being an angel would explain the wings, huh?”

“You got wings?” asked Dean.

“Why wouldn't I have wings? I'm a fucking angel.”

“What about a harp?” asked Dean.

“Fuck harps.”

Dean found himself grinning. “So, uh, are they all white and feathery?” he asked, taking his hands off the wheel to flap them.

Dean cringed. Cas was suddenly leaning over really close. He needed to talk to the guy about this.... 

“They are dark as night, broad as branches, and the very sight of them causes tribulation in mere mortals,” Cas told him.

“Uh. You don't say.” Dean glanced over at him, not quite sure if the guy was yanking his chain. Damn, he could hold a stare like no one else. “Well, I don't think I'd have tribulations,” he told Cas, glaring back at him while trying to watch the road, “or whatever.”

Cas slouched back in his seat. “I doubt I would show them to you anyway. You need to turn off the main road. Here,” he said, pointing ahead.

“I see it!” said Dean. And he did. The site where he had just crash landed. He had to admit, it was pretty impressive. There was debris scattered over a good half mile. “That was … a pretty good crash.”

“I've seen worse,” Cas insisted. “Up there, alongside the fuselage. I'll set up the winch,” he said, but he was already darting out before Dean had even brought the heavy truck to a halt. Then the angel was out front, directing Dean to ease the truck into his opinion of exactly the right spot. Dean jumped out himself, and then occupied himself with helping Cas hook up the winch so they could ease the big piece of machinery onto the truck's broad bed.

“You're not bad at this. Wanna job?” grinned Cas after Dean had volunteered to run the winch.

“I did some construction work, before the police academy,” Dean noted.

“This is _de_ struction work. More fun,” said Cas.

There was a distinctive humming sound. Dean looked over to a cruiser that had just pottered into view. It was an old model, nothing like the one Dean had wrecked, and it sounded like the engine was being held together with bailing wire and electrical tape. From the looks of the rusty, damaged body, that's exactly what had been done.

The pilot carelessly let the vehicle set down heavily on the landing gear. Dean cringed: the guy was obviously an idiot. No wonder his gear was in such bad shape. They were running without a canopy, another stupid move, so the two guys seated there just jumped out. Dean noticed that crudely painted on the side were the words Mammonite Salvage.

“Who are those guys?” asked Dean. 

“Mammonite. The competition.”

“Wait, Mammon? Like in the Bible?” asked Dean.

“You read the Bible?” asked Cas, raising an eyebrow. “They’re trouble.” Cas had dropped his grin. “Stay back,” he warned, although Dean ignored him. Cas set his shoulders and strode up to greet them, Dean a couple steps in back of him. Dean suddenly regretted he'd left his sidearm in Bobby's living room. Well, that wasn't the only protection he carried.

It was two guys. They both had the same general look, pale, straw-colored hair, like they were related. Big guys, one big, the other bigger. Dean had been working as a cop long enough to suss people out, and they were clearly guys willing and able to do something stupid.

“We were out here last night, Cas,” said the smaller of the two.

“Then you were out here after my company, and thus have no rights,” said Castiel, gesturing to the blue marker he had set.

“How did you get to the site so damn fast, Cas? You shoot them down yourself?”

“This is a Singer salvage. It's marked.”

“And what's this supposed to be?” he asked, pointing to Dean.

“My summer intern,” said Cas. 

“Hey, is that a cop uniform? Wait a minute. He's from out East, ain't he?” He took a step, but Cas sidestepped and blocked him.

“He's with me,” said Cas.

“He ain't supposed to be here, I bet. I bet we could get a reward, if we take him over the wall.”

“He's going nowhere.”

“Cas, you ain't got no sense of marketing.”

“Leave,” Cas told them. “Now.”

“He ain't your salvage.”

“Hey, he told you politely to leave,” said Dean.

“Then maybe we shouldn't be so polite,” snapped the Mammonite guy.

And then … they changed. Dean had seen a lot in his young life, but he had never seen anything like this. The guys' eyes suddenly rolled up and blacked over, like they had gotten filled up with ink or something. But it wasn't just that. Somehow, their whole presence changed. Dean couldn't explain it very well, but in a flash they went from threatening dipshits to fucking scary mofos. 

His cop instincts took over then. The first rule was you did not show fear, even if you were one step from peeing your pants. _Two of them, two of us,_ he told himself He wasn't happy that the bigger one was advancing on Cas, though he realized by now the kid was stronger than he looked. 

The smaller one was in his face, and Dean easily ducked a dumb, wild punch from the guy. He followed up with a sharp elbow to the guy's gut, but was very surprised when the guy didn't go down. In fact, he didn't even seem fazed by it. Dean ducked another badly aimed punch, and this time tried a kick to the knee. This time, he brought the guy down, but the sucker landed right on top of him. The guy recovered and swung back for another punch, but Dean sent a hand down to his ankle and came up with his extra gun, which he cocked up at the guy. “Don't try it,” he warned.

Suddenly, the guy was wrenched up off of him, and, to Dean's astonishment, Cas sent him sailing off to crash into the side of his dilapidated vehicle. His brother, who was looking much the worse for wear, pulled him up and half threw him into the cruiser. “This isn't over!” he yelled, and then both Mammonites took off, with the thrum of their rattle trap motor.

Dean, still on his back, saw Cas' hand reaching down, the angel looking curiously at him. He reached up and was pulled back to his feet, standing nearly nose to nose with Cas. The guy could be a little unnerving: he got in your face, and didn't seem to blink often enough.

“Just so you know, for future reference,” Dean said, “I can handle myself. In a fight.”

“I can see that, Dean,” said Cas, looking at Dean's gun. “For your future reference, standard ammunition doesn't generally work on those individuals.”

“Standard ammunition?” asked Dean, kneeling to put away his gun.

“The commonly followed procedure is to load rounds with rock salt. Sometimes silver bullets,” Cas told him. “But that only slows them down. I can exorcise them, but then they just come back, and not in a particularly friendly mood.”

“Exorcise?” asked Dean. “What the fuck are those guys?”

“Demons.” And the grin was back.

“So we got angels and demons out here? What else do I not know about that could kill me?”

“Hard to say,” Cas told him. “The scope of your ignorance fairly impressive.” Dean frowned. “Wanna help me get your wreck on my truck? We should probably get back and tell Bobby about our friends.”

 

“You could call me just an old-fashioned guy,” said Zachariah, beaming at his assembled prisoners.

“Could this guy be any more smarmy. Yuck,” Sam whispered to Rufus, who stifled a grin. Sam shivered in the cold morning air.

“Now, I'm new here, I know that. I know you all have a certain way of doing things, a certain way this camp has been run,” continued the pudgy, balding figure as he strode up and down the line, several guards shuffling along in his wake. “I have a certain way of doing things as well. A very simple way. And that's playing fair. You play by my rules, we'll get along. We'll get along just fine!” He had stopped more or less in front of where Sam and Rufus were standing. He flashed a million dollar smile, which made a sick tremble go down Sam's spine. 

“You do not play by my rules,” Zachariah continued, “if you break my rules, of if you insist on consorting with known rule-breakers,” he said, suddenly coming to a halt right in front of Balthazar, “then I will not be so positively inclined towards you.” He fixed a scowl at Balthazar, which admittedly was not half so terrifying as his smile. Balthazar raised an eyebrow. 

Zachariah walked back to the front of the crowd. “So I urge you all. Play by the rules. My rules. And then we will all get along.”

The speech, unfortunately, did not end there. As soon as it was finally finished, the prisoners all made for the relative warmth of their bunk houses.

“So, is Zach a red-eye or a black-eye. I couldn't tell,” Sam asked Rufus.

“Neither,” said Rufus, pausing to light one of his pathetic cigarette butts.

“Neither.”

“He ain't demon. He's an angel. One of Michael's boys, so it's rumored.”

“Wait,” said Sam as Rufus paused outside their building for a quick smoke. “I thought Lucifer and Michael were bitter enemies. Isn't that … weird?”

“There's rumors flying that Michael is losing. Maybe Zach saw the writing on the wall, and switched up. Otherwise, I don't know.”

“That's weird,” said Sam.

“Hey, Camaeus,” said Rufus to the small blond guy who had just walked up.

“Rufus. Sam,” said Camaeus. “Balthazar was wondering if you might wanna consort with some rule breakers?”

“These rule breakers, they got hot coffee?” asked Rufus.

“Yeah,” grinned Camaeus.

“I'm in,” said Rufus, tossing his cigarette butt away.

“I never did know what was good for me,” grinned Sam, following after Rufus and Camaeus.

 

It was getting dark by the time Dean and Cas drove back to Singer Salvage. Bobby was standing by the house with some guy Dean didn't recognize.

“Is this the dumb motherfucker?” asked the guy when Dean stepped out of the cab. He was black haired, black-eyed, and sported an old fashioned handlebar mustache. 

“In the flesh,” said Bobby.

“Uh, what's up, Bobby?” said Dean. He noticed Cas was already down from the truck and standing right in back of him.

“This here is Justice Swearengen, the local magistrate,” said Bobby.

“Uh. You got judges out here?” asked Dean.

“Yeah, real live judges and courts, the whole motherfucking nine yards, wise guy,” said Swearengen. “And you, you dumb shit, are gonna appear before me, like a good cizitzen, first thing tomorrow fucking morning.” And with that, Swearengen nodded and stalked off.

“Bobby, what the fuck?” asked Dean.

“What is going on?” demanded Cas.

“Evidently, your new buddy is technically a fugitive from the law. Cas, did you tangle with the Mammonites?”

Cas shrugged. “We may have had discussions,” he said. “There was a considered difference of opinion regarding salvage rights.”

“Great, I raised a fucking lawyer,” said Bobby. 

“Also, they tried to beat the shit out of us,” said Dean. 

“Well, whatever happened, you boys must've pissed them off, because they ran and tattled to Sheriff Mills, and she had to get the magistrate involved.”

“This incident involved a visit from … _Jody_?” asked Castiel.

“Cut it, Cas! You ain’t too old to smack in the head,” said Bobby. 

“I think an expression of gratitude is called for,” Castiel told him.

“You know what I think, kid? Swearengen’s gonna have you testify, we better get you looking decent,” Bobby countered.

“I took a shower this morning,” grumbled Castiel.

“I mean shave and a haircut, idjit. Now, go get my my scissors. You’re looking like a damn girl!”

Castiel scowled, but went off, evidently to retrieve the instruments of his destruction. 

“I dunno about that, you should see my brother,” Dean laughed. 

“Bring him by,” said Bobby. “Oh, quit looking like that,” he said as the angel returned. “Cas, you’re lucky I don’t take the damn electric shaver to your head!” Castiel, a look of fiery vengeance etched on his features, handed a pair of scissors to Bobby and then, every fiber of his being radiating resentment, plopped into a chair. “Now, I dunno what your mom told you about angels, Dean, but they’re unbearable little shitheads, when they get a mind. Cap, dammit!” he yelled at Castiel, who tugged off his ball cap. “You want them to take away Dean, do you?”

Cas suddenly turned towards Dean, a look of horror spread across his features. “No,” he whispered.

“OK, then, let’s evince a little cooperation here!” Castiel slumped down in the chair.

“Bobby,” said Dean as he watched the black thatch turn to something Bobby Singer considered presentable in a court of law.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not really sure I’m enthusiastic about this taking Dean away business either.” Dean sighed. He had been so bound and determined to look for Sammy, he hadn’t really considered what would happened if he didn’t make it over that wall. Dean wasn’t big on consideration. 

“Well, son, I’ll tell you. I gave my word to Jody – that’s the sheriff – you’d show up tomorrow. I can’t promise anything. But let me just say, Al Swearengen is a … like-minded individual.”

“He’s a miserable old drunk,” muttered Cas.

“Well, yeah, that too.”

“I thought you guys in the neutral territories did what you wanted,” said Dean.

“What kinda rose garden did you grow up in, boy?” asked Bobby as the pile of matted black hair grew at his feet. “They leave us be as long as we don’t bother them too much. For the time being at least. But it’s common knowledge Lucy’s got his eye on us. Once he finishes up with Mike, he’s heading east, is the consensus, and No Man’s Land is just the first stop.”

“So the Valentine's Day bombing wasn’t a fluke?” asked Dean.

“It’s just the beginning,” said Bobby. He looked at Dean for a moment. “Did you know any of the V Day victims, son?”

“Yeah. My brother’s fiancée.”

“Aw, shit! I’m sorry, kid.”

“I am sorry, Dean,” Castiel echoed. And indeed, he did sound sorry.

“It’s worse than you think. It’s the reason the dumb son of a bitch got it in his head he’s a freedom fighter,” sighed Dean.

“Well, if it makes any difference, a lot of people got joining up with the Michaelistas in their heads. But that's a damn shame about the girl.”

“Jess. I didn't know her well,” Dean admitted. “Sammy was gonna be the first in the family to graduate college.”

“You were working to put him through?” asked Bobby.

“Yeah, I worked construction for a while, before I got a job on the force.”

“You need to hire him on, Bobby. He shows a great deal of promise,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, and then maybe I could fire a certain pigheaded angel,” said Bobby. He took Cas by the shoulders and gave him a critical look. “Well, I think I've done enough damage. We'll go through my suits and see if I have anything small enough to fit you.”

“A suit?” wailed Cas.

“Yeah, you're gonna have t' dress like an actual civilized human for a couple hours, boo fucking hoo,” said Bobby. “And you,” he said to Dean. “We might not want to show you off in your uniform, if it's all the same to you.”

“Yeah. My jacket's a little scorched anyway,” said Dean, looking at his sleeves.

“Maybe I'll call Jody and see if her husband left anything we could use,” said Bobby

“Bobby,” said Dean. “I really don’t wanna go back just now. I know it’s my own damn fault, but I’m in a fuckload of trouble if I try to go back after pulling this stunt.”

“Son, I’m afraid sending you back, bad as it sounds, ain’t what they intend,” Bobby told him.

“Then, what would they do with me?” asked Dean.

Bobby and Cas shared a look that did not fill Dean with confidence. “According to Swearengen, they want what you want, kid. Get your ass over the wall,” said Bobby.

“What?” asked Dean.

“Now, don’t worry. We won’t let it happen,” said Bobby.

“They’re gonna give me up … to Lucifer?” asked Dean.

“We won’t let them,” said Cas. “I won’t let them.”

Dean looked from Cas to Bobby. He shivered.

What the hell had he gotten himself into this time?


	2. Testimony

**Title:** Testimony (Perseides, Chapter 2 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.   
**Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000 total  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and then rent our world in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, a tough ex-cop, risks everything to search for him.   
**Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

Dean didn't much remember his own mother, but he had decided that if he did, Sheriff Mills would have reminded him of her. She slightly resembled the one picture he had kept, a fine-boned, smiling-eyed woman. If what Cas kept implying was right, and Bobby was a little sweet on her, well, then Bobby was a man with good taste.

“Bobby, can’t you stay out of trouble even a week?” she had mock-sighed when she had shown up that morning, clattering in in her jeep. She hauled in a great pile of clothes. 

“I'm lost without you. Oh, this is great,” said Bobby, picking up a black suit. “Cas has gotten too damned tall for anything I own.”

“I don't see why I need to wear a suit for Swearengen,” Cas muttered darkly.

“Castiel,” said Jody softly. He looked at her, evidently startled at the sound of his full name. “Be an angel for Bobby? For me?”

Cas' cheeks blazed a bright pink, and he silently took up the suit and left the room, Bobby dogging his tracks. “I don't need help!” Cas was muttering.

“Kid, you can't tie a tie to save your immortal soul!” laughed Bobby.

_“Castiel?”_ Dean asked Jody.

“That's his proper angel name. Not that there's a ton of proper folks in this neck of the woods,” laughed Jody. “The -el part means 'of God.'”

“Oh, I didn't know.”

“They're a little shy about it, those angels. And for good reason. It’s funny, really,” she said, as her eyes got a far off look. “But when Cas first came to live with Bobby, we had him in my son’s clothes.”

“Your son?” he asked.

“My … late son,” she said. “I lost my family, my son and my husband, just before I came out here.”

“You’re from the West?”

“Yes, originally. And Bobby: his wife had just passed away, about the same time.”

“A lot of people … lost someone,” Dean said awkwardly.

“But then his brother showed up with Cas, and that’s kept us busy. Now,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “I don't have a suit that would fit you, but it might be good to put on something that isn't...” she waved her hand at his uniform.

“Doesn't look quite so conspicuous?” asked Dean. He nodded. He shrugged out of his charred uniform jacket and tugged on a couple of jackets Jody had brought over. “I think this one fits OK,” he said, flexing his arms in the weather-beaten old leather jacket. “Your husband’s?” he asked. Jody nodded. “I'll get it back to you!”

“Naw. Keep it. He can't use it where he is,” Jody said sadly, but any further conversation was interrupted by then entrance of Bobby, who was fussing over Cas.

“Will you quit fiddlin’ with your damned tie, kid?”

“I cannot testify if I am the victim of strangulation,” grumbled Cas, loosening the tie. Dean whistled low. The suit was about a size too big, but Bobby had managed to transform the angel from some kind of feral creature to a kid you wouldn’t think twice about if he showed up on your doorstep peddling Bible magazines.

“Come on now,” said Jody, re-straightening Cas’ tie. “I gotta get your asses to court, or Al will have my ass.”

After a dusty ride in Jody’s jeep, Cas and Bobby following behind in a rattletrap pickup truck, Dean found that “court,” such as it was, was located in a prefab sheet metal structure situated, as was most everything here, nearby to absolutely nothing at all. Dean entered along with Jody and Bobby and Cas, expecting to find it was deserted, and was dumbstruck by the number of people bustling around. 

“Where the hell did all these … people come from?” he asked.

“They come from hundreds of miles for Al’s court,” laughed Bobby.

Someone had rustled up an actual antique oak desk and chair for the judge, but the rest looked catch as catch can, and the public seating area was filled with locals perched on anything from old lawn chairs to milk crates to tarps spread out right on the floor. Dean spotted picnic baskets, and an array of beverages, more than a few of which were alcoholic. There was more than one guy circulating with a milk crate full of cold beer, and in one section, people were actually batting around a beach ball.

Dean decided the locals must regard this as a combination ball game/day at the circus. Jody led him to a seat (a folding chair) up near the front, and then sat beside him. On the other side of what was more or less an aisle, he saw the demon brothers, the Mammonites, sitting and scowling at him. They wore their human eyes, leading Dean to wonder how much of the crowd was human, and how many other demons were there.

“All rise!” bellowed the bailiff, and, to Dean’s surprise, the sorry crowd managed to quiet down somewhat get itself more or less on its feet. “The Court of the Honorable Judge Albert Swearengen, Magistrate of the Southwest Division of the Union of Unincorporated Free Territories, is now in session.”

Swearengen was clad in a black judge’s robe, though from his bloodshot eyes Dean wondered if he may have downed a bloody Mary for breakfast. Swearengen smashed his gavel on his desk, and with a curt, “Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, everybody,” court was in session.

The bailiff put a sheet of paper before Swearengen, and he donned half glasses to read it. After giving it a thorough perusal, he raised his eyes at the courtroom. He glared at Dean, who cringed, and then fixed his stare at the demons, who also shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

Swearengen held up the paper between two fingers, as if he intended to toss it away. “I got a complaint here about a fugitive from justice. You Mammonite boys now acting as employees of the Territories? ‘Cause if so I got some work for you, picking up trash around my residence.”

There were unmuffled guffaws from the audience. The smaller demon – Dean realized he didn’t know a name for either of them – rose and tried to salvage a shred of dignity. “Your honor. My brother and I, we were essaying the local surroundings….”

“Essaying? You were putting the local grounds to the test?”

“We was lookin’ around, Al,” said the smaller Mammonite. “Like we do.”

“You were _surveying_ , you jackass! Now, don’t use a five dollar word with fifty cents of brains.”

The audience laughed again, and Dean struggled not to grin.

“An’ we came upon him!” said the smaller demon, making a dramatic sweeping gesture towards Dean. “He was lurking! Obviously not from these parts, and inveigling stolen merchandise from the East!”

“Inveigling?” sighed the judge.

“He stole a cop car, judge!”

“Why didn’t you just say that, you fucking moron!”

The audience was now openly roaring with laughter, and Dean noticed somewhere behind him the beach ball was back in the air.

“Judge,” said the larger Mammonite brother, who rose and put a big hand on his brother’s shoulder, shoving the smaller demon into his seat. “This man is clearly a fugitive! The Singer boy was trying to aid and abet this criminal. I say we need to hand him over to the authorities!”

“You want me to send him back East?” asked the judge. “You chipping in for a bus ticket?”

“Not at all, Judge Swearengen. I want us to think how this could put us in good stead with the authorities on the other side of the wall.”

The audience quieted down upon mention of Lucifer's wall.

“Ah. You want us to hand his ass over to Lucy,” said Swearengen. This time there was no laughing, just hushed murmurs from the audience. Dean gulped. Jody surreptitiously reached over and patted his leg.

“It’s no secret that those to the West have their eye out over the Unincorporated Territories,” the big Mammonite continued as the hushed conversations in the audience continued. “The war won’t last forever. And afterwards, they may look favorably towards those of us who have recognized their authority.”

“Aw. So this is gonna make Lucy our newest fucking friend?” asked the judge.

“It’s no secret: the angels have vast and unknowable powers. Powers they can selfishly keep for their own gains,” he said shooting a scowl at Castiel, who glowered back, “or powers they can share, powers that could turn this shithole into a decent town.”

“Won’t be decent with you in it,” someone snarked from the audience.

“Hey, I could have you removed!” yelled Swearengen, banging his gavel. “And then you’d have to entertain your damn fool self for the rest of the morning.”

“Think of the bargain!” continued the Mammonite. “One Eastern traitor, for the potential of untold wealth and glory!” 

Dean found he was slumping in his seat. He really had no idea why Lucifer would have the slightest interest in him, but he had absolutely no inclination to find out. Whose idea had it been to crash the wall and go get Sammy? Oh....

“All right! Enough fucking riches. I wanna see what Singer has to say about this. Bobby,” said Swearengen. “Bobby! You found this guy?”

“My boy fround him! Cas did!”

“Did you bring your boy here today?”

“Cas is right here,” said Bobby, pointing to the chair next to him. 

“That’s Cas?” asked Swearengen, looking the angel, who was still irritably yanking at his tie. “What the fuck did you do to him? Boy looks almost human.”

“Of course it’s me, Al,” grumbled Cas as the audience chuckled.

“Then get your ass in the witness chair, boy!” ordered Swearengen. Cas rose to his feet and ambled over to the witness stand, pulling uncomfortably on his tie. 

The bailiff held up a bible, and Cas put a hand on it. “You’re Castiel, the Singer kid?” demanded Swearengen.

“I am none other,” said Cas. For once, Dean thought, he seemed almost equal to that voice. He noticed the people listening had quieted down again.

“Then sit your ass down. And don’t fucking lie, or I’ll come and kick the tar out of you,” warned Swearengen.

Cas cast a distinctly unpleasant glance at Swearengen, but sat down without making the comeback that was doubtless on the tip of his tongue. He also glanced at Dean and nodded slightly.

“Now,” said Swearengen, “you are the individual who found Mr. Winchester?”

“I am,” said Cas.

“Well, don’t just sit there, tell us what happened!” said the judge.

“I viewed Mr. Winchester’s vehicle descending from the heavens, looking for all the world like a lost shooting star.”

“WHAT?” shouted the big Mammonite. “What is this bullshit?”

“Aw shut your face, we already heard from you, dickless,” said Swearengen, pounding his gavel. “Go on, kid.”

“I arrived at the site, to find a once proud ship lying broken on the desert, the wreckage licked by flames of a terrible nature. In the soft orange glow, weird against the early dawn, I affixed the legal markers of my employer, Singer Salvage, to the perimeter, as specified by the International Code of Salvage Law, subsection 4-v-b-iii.”

“That's a damn good subsection,” commented Swearengen. “Go on.”

“It was at this point,” Cas told the now fairly hushed audience, “in the cold light of the desert, an awareness of a living presence, a beating heart, trapped inside the wreckage permeated my consciousness. I worked swiftly, and retrieved the man you see before you today, Dean Winchester, from the bowels of the wreckage and certain death.”

“Now, see, you dumb bastards, that's testimony!” said Swearengen, who had retrieved a flask from his robes and was unscrewing it.

“It is for this reason,” Castiel continued when the scattered applause and whoops from the gallery had subsided, “Mr. Winchester's presence inside my legally placed markers, that I declare him to be part and parcel of our lawful salvage.”

Dean blinked. This was news to him. He glanced over at Bobby, who was nodding.

“WHAT!” screamed the big Mammonite, who had leapt to his feet. “That's ridiculous.”

“What I said!” Swearengen yelled back at him. “Sit the fuck down, or I'll have the bailiff do it for you. That's loaded with rock salt, you dumb motherfucker.” And, indeed, the bailiff had a shotgun he was pointing directly at the big Mammonite's gut. The Mammonite frowned, but sat down again.

Swearengen turned to Cas. “So. You say he's your salvage?” he asked, generously lacing his coffee with something from the flask.

“That is my claim,” said Castiel.

“Well,” said Swearengen, “sounds reasonable to me.”

Both Mammonite brothers began to protest again, but the judge just pointed a gavel in his direction. “All right then, enough of this bullshit,” said Swearengen, taking a big gulp of his spiked coffee. “I now declare the pilot, Mr. Dean Winchester, the legal property of Singer Salvage. You do what you want with him, kid,” he added to Cas.

“Thank you, your honor,” Cas told Swearengen, but he was grinning at Dean.

 

Sam Winchester was playing poker.

And, as had often happened to him lately, he was losing.

Badly.

“Aw, it just isn’t my night,” he sighed, throwing his hand on the table, face down. 

“You are the worst fucking poker player in existence,” sighed Rufus, who threw his own cards down as well. “The worst in existence.”

“Well, I gotta blame my shithead brother. He taught me everything I know!” said Sam.

“Please convey our thanks to your brother,” laughed one of Sam’s opponents, a red-eyed demon named Asmodeus. 

“Well, I’m tapped,” said Sam, standing up.

“You know, it's really too bad,” mused Balthazar, who was somehow neither winning nor losing. 

“How is that?” asked Asmodeus.

“Our charming young friend,” said Balthazar, raising a hand to indicate Sam. “Wasting his time at the poker table....”

“I wouldn't call it wasted, friend,” said Asmodeus, holding up his chips.

“....when I'm sure the townsfolk would be favorably inclined towards him. Especially, if I may say so, the young ladies.”

Asmodeus was quiet, his eyes now flicking between Sam and Balthazar. Sam smiled sweetly, trying to look a little oblivious.

“He's new here,” said Asmodeus. “A little soon to be put on the trustees list.”

“Oh, that's too bad. And who makes up this list?” asked Balthazar.

“You know damned well who makes the list, Balthazar,” said Asmodeus. 

“Well, you would only be doing yourself a favor, my friend,” Balthazar told Asmodeus. “I know the vendors in town would most definitely give this young man some fair-minded trades.”

“Oh, like you don’t charm the pants off them already, Balthy,” said Asmodeus.

“It’s a curse!” sighed Balthazar. 

Asmodeus gave Sam a searching look. “You wouldn't run off on me, would you?” Asmodeus asked him.

“Uh. What would happen if I even tried?” asked Sam.

“Well, your skin would be boiled off. For one thing,” said Asmodeus. “But it doesn't keep some idiots from trying!”

“Huh. Skin boiling doesn't sound like that matches my present ambitions. To, uh, live,” grinned Sam. 

“You're not gonna fuck me, are you, Balthazar?” asked Asmodeus.

“Oh, my dear, you are quite comely for a prison guard, but unfortunately, not my type,” winked Balthazar.

Sam nodded to the group, and then he and Rufus took their leave. This was not a bunkhouse; it was actually a guard house, so it was a little more comfortable, with a real poker table and actual chairs. The black-eyes weren't much in evidence around the camp tonight. It had taken Sam a while, as their uniforms often didn't indicate it, but Rufus had advised him early on that a lot of surviving was “knowing your demon sons a bitches.” Everybody (including Balthazar, he suspected, though the guy seemed to know everything) was pretty vague on why the differences. Rumor was that the black-eyes answered directly to Lucifer, or one of his lieutenants. The red-eyes seemed to have different loyalties. Sam had observed that it was pretty easy to reason with the red-eyes, especially if there was money or goods in it for them.

“So, um, Rufus?”

“Yeah?”

“That's whole deal about getting your skin boiled off. Was that guy on the level?”

“I honestly don't know. It's the black-eyes who do the anti-escape spells. And they have, what do you call it, a sense of humor about it.”

“You ever seen anybody try to escape?”

Rufus nodded. “Yeah, it wasn't pretty. Wasn't much left of him, truth be told. And they never fired a shot.”

“Sounds horrible,” said Sam. He didn't really know what else to say. And the unspoken question, we're all trying to get out of here?

Rufus nodded, perhaps sensing what was on Sam's mind. “When I say, be careful, kid,” said Rufus. “Then you'll know I mean it.”

 

Jody had insisted on escorting them back to Singer Salvage. Dean noticed that she, Bobby and Cas were all openly carrying arms.

When they all stopped at the gate, Bobby asked, “How long you think we've got?”

“I dunno,” said Jody, shaking her head. “By the look of those Mammonites, maybe nightfall. I'll do what I can. I got calls out for some law enforcement folks in the surrounding territories. But you need to get your salvage to higher ground, if you know what I mean,” she added, glancing at Dean.

Bobby nodded. Pausing just to give Dean a hug, Jody departed.

“Can I ask what's going on?” said Dean as they entered the salvage yard. Bobby locked the gate, but they left Cas there. Cas held out a hand, and seemed to be muttering some kind of chant at the gate.

“Looks like we just bought you some time, kid,” said Bobby. “Cas can shore up our defenses. But the Mammonites smell a reward, and now they've got a few allies. We gotta find a place for you to go to ground. At least 'til this blows over.”

“We will take him to find his brother,” said Cas, who was striding up behind them.

“Kid, are you out of your motherfucking mind?” asked Bobby.

“I have a plan,” said Castiel.

“You? A plan? Well, I gotta hear this!” said Bobby.

“I will take Dean to my brother.”

“Oh, that's just brilliant, Cas! One dumb ass takes another dumb ass to see the world's biggest dumb ass!”

“My brother will doubtlessly be able to divine where Sam is being held,” said Cas. “He is very powerful. And wise,” he told Dean.

“He's a idjit!” said Bobby. “An angel idjit is still a idjit!”

“Wait,” said Dean. “This guy, your brother: you say he can locate Sammy?”

“Of that I have no doubt,” said Cas.

“Of that I have every goddam doubt,” grumbled Bobby.

“Would he be able to tell...” Dean looked at Cas, his eyes pleading. “I just wanna know if he's OK.”

Now both Dean and Cas were staring at Bobby. “Oh for the love of...” he muttered. “You wanna crawl through enemy territory, check on your brother, and then just amble on back?”

“I have made the journey numerous times, Bobby,” Cas told him.

“Not with a damn fugitive cop from the East you haven't,” Bobby reminded him.

“We will go, and determine the status of Sam Winchester. This will have the added effect of removing Dean from a potentially volatile situation,” said Cas.

“Damn jailhouse lawyer,” said Bobby. “Well, if I had a better plan, I'd offer it up.” He aimed a scowl at Cas. “Pack up.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other as if they were two kids who Dad had just cleared to take the family car. 

Cas inclined his head at Dean, and ran off, Dean at his heels.

The room that was evidently Castiel's shared décor with Bobby's living room: there were books literally everywhere, including piled up on top of the bed. Dean pushed a stack aside and sat down there while Cas threw things in his pack.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Do you … sleep?” Dean winced, as he didn't want to offend. But angels were strange, so he thought it was a fair question. Or at least the one angel he knew was pretty strange.

“Of course,” said Cas. “Not so much as I did when I was younger. But that's one way we talk to each other. Dreams.” He considered a pistol, frowned, put it back on the shelf, and took a knife instead.

“Uh. You can talk … in dreams?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know,” said Dean. He looked at the high stack of literature beside him. “So. You read all these books?”

“I have read all of Bobby's books.”

“Wait, all of them? I mean, the living room is full,” said Dean. And he was pretty sure too that not all of them were even in English.

“There are more in back. More books,” grinned Cas.

“And you've read all of them?”

“Some of them multiple times,” Cas told Dean.

“Really?” asked Dean, who had never been much for reading, but suddenly found himself reconsidering.

“Because of an accident of birth, I find to my dismay I have a paucity of knowledge regarding the world. Bobby's place is a repository of knowledge, from quotidian to arcane lore.”

“Have you been outside the Territories before?” Dean asked.

“I have been to see my brother in the West on a number of occasions. But that is the limit to my experience beyond No Man’s Land.

“Oh, I hadn't thought of it that way,” said Dean, who had a book open on his lap. He realized he couldn't read it. And in fact, he had never seen these particular symbols before. “What is this anyway?” He looked up in astonishment, as Cas was suddenly sitting right beside him, leaning over the book, his head just inches from Dean's.

“This is Enochian,” said Cas, running his fingers reverently over the pages. “It's our language.”

“This is the angel language?” asked Dean, glancing to the side. “Could you read some of it?”

Cas pulled the book into his lap. As his fingers danced along the pages, he began to mutter in a strange, unearthly sounding language. It sounded … old, although Dean couldn’t actually put his finger on why.

Cas stopped abruptly. Dean glanced over to see Cas was staring at him, though for once, he wasn’t wearing that cocky grin. Dean at once realized why Bobby had thought he might have recognized Cas for an angel: he really didn’t look quite human. The unnerving way he held your gaze was part of it. 

“Do you remember heaven?” Dean asked.

The eyes dropped, and Cas closed up the book, as if closing off the memories. Cas shook his head. “Not well. I was…” he looked back up, into Dean’s eyes. “Very young.”

Dean couldn’t help staring. Did any humans have eyes that particular shade of blue? It was like small panes of the sky, staring back at him.

There was a loud thunk at the window. Cas immediately hopped up and looked outside. Dean hastened after him. It was the Mammonites: they were standing outside the fence, along with a small but angry looking posse.

“Cas!” Bobby yelled from another room. “You kids ready!”

“We’ve got to go,” said Cas, grabbing his pack. “Come on.”

They ran back down to the living room where, to Dean’s surprise, Bobby opened a door that led to the basement level. He helped Bobby and Cas move some furniture and the inevitable books away from what looked like a random section of the basement floor. There was a trap door underneath the rug, signs and squiggles scribbled all over it. Bobby paused and said something that sounded like Latin, and some of the signs started to glow. Then Cas said a few more words, and Dean heard what sounded like a lock clicking. Cas pulled up the door: there was a ladder going straight down. He couldn’t see the end of the ladder, which was lost down in the darkness.

“Be sure to lock it from your side once you’re down,” said Bobby, handing Dean a flashlight. 

“Will you be OK?” Dean asked Bobby.

“I’ll be fine. Jody’s already gone for reinforcements. But they’ll lose interest once they see you’re not here. You boys be careful! Don’t trust anyone on that other side of Lucy’s wall.”

“Except my brother,” said Cas.

“Especially your damn brother,” grumbled Bobby.

Cas made to step on the ladder, but suddenly turned back. He looked uncertainly at Bobby. And for once, he looked very young, Dean thought.

“Yeah. C’mere,” said Bobby, holding out his arms.

And then Cas was over embracing Bobby. “Be careful, you little shit,” said Bobby, patting his back. “And you, too!” he warned Dean. “Anything happens, I’ll come after you and kick both your asses.”

Cas nodded. He gestured for Dean to take the ladder, and then he followed after. Dean looked up as Bobby lowered the trap door, and the world turned dark. He clicked on his flashlight and stuck it in his mouth. The ladder led down to a small passageway, only a few inches higher than Dean’s head, and barely wide enough for the two of them to walk through abreast.

“Tunnel?” asked Dean.

“Yeah,” said Cas. “Bobby is a paranoid bastard.”

“Bobby is awesome,” said Dean.

“Yeah. That too.” Cas smiled. Dean noticed he didn’t bother with a flashlight. 

“So, this doesn’t go…?” asked Dean.

“It comes up on our side of the wall. Bobby isn’t quite so omnipotent as that. But don’t worry, Dean. I know how to get through.”

After they walked for what may have been a mile, the tunnel ended in yet another ladder, and they emerged in a stand of scrub right in the shadow of the wall. Dean stared up at it as Cas fixed down the hatch. And Dean had thought to stupidly fly right over this thing? It was a lot taller than he had expected. He felt a little like he was standing at the bottom of a dam. And maybe waiting to get flooded.

“It’s this way. Come on,” said Cas. He frowned down at Dean’s feet. “Are you going to obtain sufficient support from that footwear?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. He looked Cas up and down and laughed. “Dude. You never changed out of your suit!”

Cas flipped his tie. “It is of little consequence for me. Let me know if you are experiencing difficulty. Perhaps my brother will outfit you when we reach him.”

“I feel like we’re going to see the Wizard of Oz,” laughed Dean as they both started walking.

Cas thought it over for a moment. “Oh, yes, I’ve read those books.”

“There are books?” asked Dean.

Castiel looked confused. “But my brother, unlike the Wizard, is not a fraud,” he assured Dean.

 

What we need is a dog, thought Sam.

Whatever wheeling and dealing Balthazar had pulled backstage, it had worked, and Sam had suddenly showed up on the list of prisoners assigned to trading with the nearby towns. 

He sat in the back of the heavily laden pickup truck, watching the world go by. It felt strange to be beyond the bounds of the camp. How long had he been here? Six months? That sounded about right. He seemed to be living outside time.

It was also weird to not have Rufus hovering nearby. When he’d asked the older man why he wasn’t on the list for trading duty, Rufus had just laughed and said, “Frankly, would you trust me? Because I wouldn’t.” Rufus had actually managed a pretty sweet deal, where he got to work in one of the gardens, puttering around growing something he called heirloom tomatoes and suchlike. It was all more or less under the table, but the red-eyes liked it since a big cut (ie, most of it) got kicked back to them. They were supposed to be delivering bulk items, like the bags of sunflower seeds piled around Sam. So it was Sam plus goofy Ash and serious Victor in the back of the truck.

The truck jerked to a halt, and Sam was nearly thrown out. Demons can’t fucking drive, he mused, thinking about how disgusted Dean would be. 

“Hey, start unloading up there!” one of the guards yelled. Sam smiled. This was the last stop today, so that barked order would be the last you’d see of those guys for several hours. He watched the driver and the other guard wander off to find a bar, and grabbed a bag of seeds. 

“Catch you on the rebound, Mr. Big!” hailed Ash, who hopped down and disappeared, as he always did. Victor rolled his eyes, hefted a bag, and went his own way, making a delivery.

Sam noticed a customer walking up. Still lost in thought, he grabbed a bag and held it out over the edge of the truck bed.

“Hey, tall dark and gruesome!”

Sam looked down, around the big burlap bag he was holding. There was a tiny brunette standing down there, hands on her hips, scowling up at him, foot tapping impatiently.

She was really cute.

Really, really cute.

“You expect me to carry that shit or what?” she asked, gesturing at the bag. “I’m just a frail girl, dumbass.”

“Well, since you asked so charmingly,” grinned Sam, hopping down. “Where are we headed?”

“Just down the street,” she said, nodding her head, and acting slightly more friendly. “My folks own a general store.”

“General store?” asked Sam. _Jackpot._ He hefted the bag. “That sounds nice.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s about as thrilling as watching paint dry.” He followed her down the street. Nice ass. Not that he was noticing.

“So, I’m Sam,” he said.

“Did I ask?”

“No. But I answered anyway,” he told her.

She huffed impatiently and looked back, shaking her head. She opened the door of a small storefront, and gestured for Sam to come inside. “Just dump it any old where, I don’t care,” she told him. Sam put the bag down on the floor and looked around, wiping his hands. It all looked a bit dusty. Maybe that was why she was in such a bad mood?

“Don’t get much business these days?” asked Sam.

“Oh, yeah, customers are breaking down the doors to come to my store in the middle of a fucking war zone,” she grumbled. She scribbled out a note and handed it to him. “Your receipt.”

“I don’t need one,” said Sam.

“Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“First bag, on the house,” he smiled. And then he nodded and made for the door. He exited, and walked back down the block. He was about halfway back when he heard the door slam again.

“Hey, Sam!” she shouted.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.

“Ruby,” she shouted. “The name’s Ruby.”

“Ruby,” repeated Sam, grinning and ambling off.

 

The walk to Cas' supposed wall crossing point was not a short one, but Dean was surprised to find that the wall actually petered out as you got north. It got noticeably shorter, with much fewer markings. And then the concrete wall stopped completely.

“A chain link fence?” asked Dean. “Really? I mean, really?”

“It isn’t merely a chain link fence,” smiled Cas. “As you probably realize by now. Here is a good place,” he said, stopping at a spot that looked very much like the rest of it. “Stand back a little,” he told Dean. He closed his eyes and held out a hand, palm outwards, towards the fence. The fence glowed softly, and Dean was pretty sure he heard a slight hum.

“This won’t last long. Come on,” said Cas, hastening up a small incline towards the fence. He and Dean stood on the hill, the fence at about their eye level. As it turned out, the bottom of the fence wasn’t well attached to the ground here, so Dean helped Cas pull out a section big enough for a man to scramble through. He gave Cas a leg up, and the angel easily slipped through. 

And then Cas turned around and extended a hand to help Dean up.

“Hurry. My spell won’t last long.”

Dean took a last look around. Well, we’re off to see the wizard, he thought. 

And then he grabbed on to Cas’ hand, and wriggled under the fence, and into Lucifer’s domain.


	3. Pilgrimage

**Title:** Pilgrimage (Perseides, Chapter 3 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.   
**Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000 total  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.  
 **Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

“The Perseid meteor shower,” said Cas, pointing up to the shooting stars overhead.

He glanced over at Dean, lying in the field beside him, also staring up at the sky. Based on long experience, Cas thought it would be prudent to wait until daybreak to bring his new friend into town. Although he hadn't complained about it, Cas knew Dean's shoes were inadequate to the walk, and had been bothering him. Cas decided he would have his brother outfit the policeman with something a little more suitable for the journey ahead. 

He had thought to let Dean sleep, but found the policeman was a little too hyped up for that. So he had decided to share the stars with him.

“There,” said Cas, tracing the sky with a finger.

“How do you know that?” asked Dean, as they watched a light flash across the darkened sky.

“Every year, at this time, the earth rotates through the orbit of the Swift-Tuttle comet. Meteor activity is generally high in pre-dawn hours.”

“You know, dude, you don't sound like a salvage yard worker. You sound like a book,” said Dean.

Cas cast a nervous glance at Dean, but Dean was smiling, so Cas decided maybe it was OK to sound like a book. Or at least OK for _him_ to sound like a book. 

“Tell me about the East, Dean,” said Cas.

“It’s pretty boring, actually,” said Dean.

“It won’t be boring to me,” said Cas, looking over to Dean. “Even the boring stuff won’t be boring. I’ve never been there.”

“I suppose so,” said Dean.

“And besides, you are my salvage. I should know everything about you!”

Dean burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re not gonna keep harping on that are you?” He looked at Cas, who was perfectly serious. “OK, so you are. Just do me a favor, OK? Don’t mention it in front of my brother. He’ll never stop giving me shit.”

“All right. I will not mention this fact in front of Sam Winchester.” Cas smiled faintly. Although they had promised only to pinpoint Sam’s location and then hurry back to Bobby and No Man’s Land, Cas had already decided he was not returning without Sam in tow. He suspected Dean felt the same way. How hard could it be? After all, everyone knew Lucifer had a bunch of demons working for him. Between him and his brother, they could probably smite enough enemy soldiers to free an entire camp. 

“Can I ask you one thing?” said Dean.

“Yes?”

“The whole blow up between Michael and Lucifer....”

“This inquiry might be better to ask of my brother. As I have said, I was quite young.”

“No, it's.... Where was your dad, in all of this?”

“Where is God?” Cas repeated, and suddenly the weight of the universe was upon him.

“Well.... Yeah.”

Cas grew thoughtful. “That is a very good question, Dean.”

Dean sat up. “Wait. You don't know?”

“No one knows,” said Cas, tracing the stars with his hands. “At least, that is what my brother tells me.”

“God skipped town? What, did he have alimony payments?”

Cas took his eyes from the sky and gazed over at his friend, sensing his unease. “You are concerned,” he told Dean. “You needn't be. The world is no different from what it was. I just supplied you with some information.”

“There are angels … but no God,” repeated Dean, lying back down.

“My Father abides!” insisted Cas, going up on one elbow.

“Like the Dude?” smiled Dean.

“I don’t know what you mean. My father is here. He is simply … elusive.”

Dean sighed. “And no one has seen hide nor hair of Michael lately?”

“I have never seen him, not that I can recall, so it has made minimal difference in my life.”

“But he's supposed to be leading the fight! People are dying in his name!” said Dean. “My brother got caught. In his name!”

Cas studied Dean. “Your brother notwithstanding, please understand, I do not have the sympathies you might expect in this fight. Michaelistas and Luciferites: they are all my brothers and sisters. And they are set upon each other.”

“So to you it's like … what? A big argument at the dinner table?” asked Dean.

“It is a bit like that, yes,” said Cas. “We are different, we angels, but there are analogies to a human family.” He looked upwards, and just then, a meteor sparked against the sky, leaving a graceful trail of light.

 

Sam was carrying contraband, so he hurried on his way. But tried not to seem as though he was hurrying.

Since the night of the fateful poker game, his life had turned into one big scavenger hunt. Not that he minded: it staved off the boredom and longing for home.

The camp was self-supporting. Word was because Lucifer had no food to spare, having spent rather a lot of time torching farmland in the wake of his advance. But this meant that certain trusted prisoners spent part of their days out toiling in the fields. And another set of model prisoners was actually afforded contact with the townsfolk.

Sam, as it happened, was every inch the model prisoner. The status was, unfortunately, not earned so much as bought, thanks to innumerable poker game losses to a guard named Asmodeus. He once again stopped to wonder about the guards: the red-eyed ones would sell their mother for a pack of smokes. If demons had mothers, that is. 

He had just come back from a successful transaction in town, where in exchange for some of Rufus’ most perfect tomatoes, he’d gotten a big old sack of fertilizer.

Thing was, the sack _said_ fertilizer. But it was no such thing.

He was just waddling out to visit Rufus, who was in the middle of a vast field of sunflowers fussing over something that looked to Sam every bit a nasty weed. 

“What you got there, Rufus?” he asked, after making sure there were no listening ears.

“Artemisia absinthium. Some as call it wormwood. Good for what ails you. And maybe giving some supernatural mofos something to think about. You got something for me?”

Sam looked around one more time, and then dropped the heavy sack he had hidden under his jacket.

“Ah!” said Rufus. He knelt down and opened the sack, sticking a finger in to taste. “Oh, that is tasty.”

“Demons can’t take a little rock salt?” asked Sam, hunkering down next to him. “Really?”

“None of the minor ranks, so most everybody we’re likely to meet,” said Rufus, “You got firearms, which unfortunately we don’t, you can pack it in the ammo. But it’s a pretty trusty barrier, given there’s not a high wind that night.” He looked up at Sam. “You’re a little late,” he said to Sam.

“Yeah, I got to talking,” said Sam.

“Anyone I know?” asked Rufus, narrowing his eyes. “Ash has told me you got a new friend in town.”

“Ash has a big fucking mouth.” Sam shrugged. “It’s just this girl in town. Ruby, her name was. Her folks own the general store where I’ve gotten some of my stuff.”

“Ruby, huh? This a human girl?”

“What?” sputtered Sam. “Rufus! You’re paranoid. Of course she's human!”

“Paranoid folks are live folks. She the one give you the salt?”

“No, they were out. I had to go….” Sam thought it over. He had been flirting with the saucy brunette since he’d been given leave to go to town. But every time he’d brought up the subject of salt, she had started to act weird. Well, weirder than usual.

“You got a cute little clerk at a general store who don’t stock salt. Yeah, that makes sense,” smiled Rufus. “Bet they don’t stock any iron either.”

“Rufus,” said Sam. “You’re off base here. There is no way that girl is a demon.”

“Because…?”

Sam shrugged.

“Too pretty?” laughed Rufus.

“Rufus! That’s crazy. Ruby is not a demon. And even if she is….” _Whoa, wait_ , thought Sam.

“At least I know _you’re_ human then, kid,” laughed Rufus. “Do us a favor then. Keep flirting with her, don’t let her know you’ve caught on. Or rather, don’t let her know _I_ caught on.” He took out a small container and filled it with rock salt. “You can give that to her as a present, she gives you any trouble.”

Sam nodded, suddenly wondering if that was why the guys in the camp had conspired to get him on the trading runs into town.

Rufus carefully rolled up the bag of salt and then placed it inside a metal container. Sparing one more careful glance around, the two men lowered the container into a hole in the ground, and then carefully covered it over, stomping in the dirt. “Now to just make sure I don’t blank out on all my damn hidey holes,” laughed Rufus. “Anyway. We better hit the road after this. Don’t wanna miss dinner roll call.”

They walked in silence for a while, and Rufus lit a stubby end of a hand-rolled cigarette. “So if I’m not prying, kid, what’s your story?” Rufus asked. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing girls. Of the human, normal-eyed kind?”

“I was. Believe me, I was,” said Sam, ruefully. “I guess I believed like my brother did, that this isn’t our fight. I was in college, and I was gonna get married. But….” He trailed off, and walked in silence for a moment. “You must have heard of the Valentine’s Day bombing?”

“We all did. Blamed it on Luciferites.”

“But it was never clear. Yeah.” Sam took a deep breath. “Anyway, my fiancée worked in that building.”

“Aw, hell, I’m sorry, kid!”

“Well, anyway, I know what my brother thinks, but I just couldn’t accept that what goes on over here wasn’t my business.

“This fucking war. It’s made a mess of us all,” sighed Rufus, who took a puff of his cigarette butt. 

They walked in silence for a while more. “Rufus, what really happened up there?” Sam nodded upwards. “What the hell are we fighting for? What the hell started it?”

“Well, I’m not sure anyone really knows it all. I’m not sure any human could fully comprehend anyway. But from what I can make out it’s all down to a family feud.”

“What, like the Borgias?”

“More like Cain and Abel, what I hear. My read is it started out pretty much a fight for succession. The old man stepped out,”

“Wait, God?”

“Yep, God. No one knows when or why, so the heirs were squabbling to divide up what’s left. Michael and Lucifer were next in line, and the rest of them lined up on either side or just got out of there.”

“Somehow, that’s not the way I pictured angels,” said Sam. 

“They’re warriors, you know. The angels. Not the lovey dovey crap you get in the New Age salons.”

“And Lucifer is winning?”

“Seems like. Of course, you don’t always get the greatest intel, where we’re stuck right now. But you feed a red-eye demon enough booze, they get chatty, and it sounds like both sides are worn pretty thin. No one’s actually seen Michael in quite a while. And Lucy started recruiting demons to his side. But, of course, like anything supernatural, there’s conflicting stories like crazy.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Well, I don’t give too much stock to babble from drunk demons, but one tale I’ve heard from a number is that Mike and Lucy between the two of them took a shiv to the rest of the royal family, or whatever the hell you call the angel equivalent.”

“So. Some angels are more equal than others?”

“Sure thing. There’s archangels, and they’re like ten of the regular guys. The Father’s favorites. Anyway, there’s some as say Lucy did it, some say Mike, but the long and the short of it is, anyone who might have threatened them for the leadership is in a celestial body bag.”

“That’s harsh,” said Sam.

“Well, remember, they ain’t like us, kid. Angels can be a bunch of murderous sonsabitches.”

“If you say so,” said Sam, who couldn’t help but remember his mother’s tales of guardian angels and suchlike.

“Now of course, there’s also some as say, there may have been a brother who skipped out and escaped. Rogue archangel.”

“Oh, so you mean the Romanov angel family had an Anastasia?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, something like that. Prince Anastasia,” laughed Rufus.

 

They had hidden out just outside of town until daybreak. “Curfew,” Cas had explained. At the first sign of dawn, they headed in, though Dean noticed Cas stayed away from the main roads. 

The town wasn’t what Dean had been expecting. Funny, it seemed like it had been caught in a time capsule maybe a decade or two earlier. Well, the portions that were still standing. There were also whole neighborhoods that had been reduced to rubble, and it didn’t seem as if anybody had even attempted to rebuild. But the technology was all mid to late Twentieth Century, if that. Most of the cars were still the four wheeled kind, and the few that flew looked just a tick better than the one he'd seen the Mammonites pilot. Bobby had been right, even if Dean had somehow flown his police cruiser into this territory, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Cas seemed to know his way around, so Dean just stuck close, and, as Bobby had instructed them, tried to look like he belonged there.

Dean’s feet were getting sore after walking on hard pavement for a couple hours. These shoes were not meant for foot patrol, he thought wryly. They ended up at a dilapidated strip mall in what appeared to Dean to be a rather shady portion of the town. 

“You sure this is it?” Dan asked.

“I’m sure,” said Cas. He approached a storefront that looked closed. The sign up above had fallen off, probably years ago, but on the door was a sign that said “Freelance Shaman for hire.” And then underneath that a list of maladies the shaman claimed to cure, including gout, ague, boils, and demon possessions large and small.

“Looks closed,” said Dean, peering into the dusty plate glass window.

“He’s here,” said Cas.

“You gonna knock?”

“He knows we’re out here,” Cas assured him.

“Are you-?” Dean started. But just then the door opened to reveal a short, slight guy. He didn't much resemble Cas, but he had the same wry grin, which broke out as soon as he spotted his brother.

“Cas? Is that you?”

Though he wasn't a big guy, he gripped Cas in a great bear hug, actually lifting him off his feet. Cas grinned and ambled on past him into the storefront.

“Uh, I’m Dean,” said Dean, introducing himself as Cas hadn’t bothered.

“You better come inside,” said the guy, looking around suspiciously. Dean entered and he closed the door. “You can call me Gabe,” he said, gripping Dean’s hand with surprising strength. 

“The place looks great as always,” cracked Cas.

“Cas, sit!” ordered Gabe as Cas was crouching on one of the threadbare couches in what looked like a waiting room area. Cas grinned, but then let his butt drop down to the couch. “Don’t act like a Nephil in front of company,” groused Gabriel. 

“He’s not company. He’s my salvage!” bragged Cas.

“Your … what?”

“Long story,” Dean apologized. Gabe raised an expectant eyebrow, so Dean continued. “I was trying to get over here from the Free States, but ended up getting shot down near Bobby’s salvage yard.”

“Oh, how the hell is Bobby?” asked Gabe, offering Dean a pack of licorice whips. Dean waved them away.

“He’s an idiot,” said Cas.

“How so, idiot?” asked Gabe.

“Still hasn’t married Jody,” said Cas, taking a long licorice whip.

“Oh, yeah, he is an idiot,” allowed Gabe. “And what's with the suit? You getting married now?” he asked Cas.

Cas flipped his twisted tie. “Had to testify before Swearengen.”

“Swearengen? That old drunk still swinging the gavel?”

“It was in the matter of Mr. Winchester,” said Cas, indicating Dean.

“So, I see you got yourself into our fair country … uh, Dean was it?” Dean nodded. “Now what?”

“I’m trying to find my brother. Cas says you can help,” Dean told Gabe.

“I can locate people,” said Gabe, flopping onto a couch and starting to chew his licorice. “What, is he a runaway?”

“Uh, kind of.”

“Michaelista!” said Cas.

“Oh, holy fuck,” said Gabe. “Well, I’m sorry, Dean, but whatever my half-witted brother told you, he was wrong. No can do!”

Dean’s heart sunk. He sat down beside Cas. “Really?” 

“Oh, sure you can, _Gabriel_. Don’t be a pussy,” Cas rasped at him. Dean noticed he was not eating his licorice whip, but rather twisting it around in a knot.

“I am not a pussy, _Castiel_ ,” shot back Gabe. “You know what the fuck you’re asking me? Your brother, Dean? He’s in a POW camp, right?”

“Last I heard, yeah,” said Dean.

“Yeah. And last I heard, Lucifer isn’t an idiot. I look for him, they’re gonna look right back at me,” he insisted, poking a thumb at his own chest.

“Yes. It would be a real shame if you had to give all this up, brother,” said Cas, casting his eyes around the shabby room.

“Don’t knock it! It’s a living!”

“Offering consultation regarding hammer toes?” asked Cas.

“Just stow it, Cas. Besides, I’m doing you a favor! You want Lucifer’s demons coming down on your head? Because that’s what it’s gonna be like. Look, you were too small, but I remember this crap from up there!” said Gabe, pointing upwards with his licorice. “That’s why we got out, you and me. So you won’t ever have to deal with it.”

“Lucifer and Michael have broken the human world,” growled Cas. “How would I not be affected. Look,” he said. “We are supposed to help people, right?”

“Not exactly,” said Gabe.

“Cas, just forget it,” said Dean. “He obviously doesn’t want to get involved.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you here, Dean,” said Cas, scowling at Gabriel.

“I’ll just gank a car and go after him myself,” said Dean.

“What? You’re insane!” said Gabe. “You don’t even know which camp!”

“Because you refuse to help us!” Cas reminded him.

“Look, Dean,” said Gabe, whose teeth were now somewhat blackened from the licorice. “I sympathize. You wanna help your brother. I’d wanna help this little shit, if he was in trouble. But you’re no help if you’re dead. And if you do this, that’s how you’re gonna end up, on a slab somewhere.”

“He’s my blood. This is what I gotta do,” said Dean, who was standing.

“I’ll go with you,” said Cas, who stood as well. He set down his licorice whip. It was now somehow twisted into a little balloon animal.

“What?” asked Dean.

“Oh no fucking way, Cas!” said Gabe.

“I said, I am going with Dean,” said Cas.

Gabe grabbed Cas by the shoulders. “You know what they do to angels. Out there.”

“I thought it was none of our business,” said Cas, crossing his arms.

“Castiel. Please.”

“Dean is my salvage,” insisted Cas.

“Stubborn little shit!” grumbled Gabe, who suddenly started pacing up and down, madly waving his licorice. “OK, OK, look, what about this? Say I try for a general location? There’s a limited number of POW camps. Maybe if I just narrow it down to a region, that would be enough.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” asked Dean.

“But you guys gotta do something for me!” said Gabriel. “I don’t work for free, even for my brother. I wanna be paid,” he insisted, tapping his finger on his palm.

“I didn’t bring any money, Gabe,” Cas told him.

“I don’t want your money. I’m getting low on stocks. Can’t be a shaman without your supplies, your eye of newt, toe of frog, vampire's tears.”

“Wait, there's … vampires here?” asked Dean.

“Why wouldn't there be vampires here?” Cas asked him as both he and Gabe looked at Dean like he was slightly slow. 

“There's no vampires in the East!” Dean protested. Which caused Cas and Gabe to smirk at each other.

“I don't know...” Cas told Gabe.

“C'mon Cas! You've always been my best scrounger!” Gabe was suddenly holding something that looked like a grocery list in his hand. Dean blinked. It seemed like it hadn't been there before. “You just go right down, bing bing bing!”

Cas frowned and gestured for the list. Gabe, seeming reluctant, gave it over. It suddenly unfolded to many times its original length, actually fanning out all the way down to the floor. “Gabe. This is an obvious delaying tactic.”

“No no no no no no! Would I do that?” asked Gabe.

“Yes. You would.”

“OK. I would. But seriously. You boys turn up a few items for me, we'll go find your brother, everybody will end up happy!”

“We can spend a certain amount of time on this,” said Cas, ripping off the end of the list and letting it fall to the floor as Gabe cringed. “In addition, Dean needs new shoes. The pair he is presently wearing is giving him blisters.”

Gabe looked shrewd. “Your cop shoes not made for walking?” he asked.

“No, they're.... Wait, how did you know?” asked Dean.

Gabe smiled smugly. “I'll grab you some clothes that don't give you away, officer. But meantime, I think I got something better for the shoe situation.” He inclined his head, and Cas and Dean followed him through the office and out a back door. There was evidently another parking lot in back of the building, although, oddly enough, it looked like the front of the building. 

Dean turned around. This was a completely different strip mall, somewhat less dilapidated than the one he remembered. And it looked to be located in a different part of town. “How did he...?” he started. He turned and ran over to where Cas and Gabe were taking a cover off a big old car.

“Oh, sweet,” said Dean, running a reverent hand over the fender of a huge black car. 

“67 Impala. And it is cherry,” grinned Gabe.

“How did you get your hands on something like this?” asked Dean.

“Oh, a trade deal. I should have sold her, but I thought it might come in handy. Gabe grinned at Dean, who looked like he had been transported to another realm. A realm of automotive perfection. 

“What do you say, Dean? Just drive around, a few errands?” asked Gabe. “I got a few odds and ends, I could start poking around for your brother right away.” He held up the car keys, jingling them.

Dean stuck out his hand. Gabe tossed him the keys. Cas rolled his eyes. 

“OK! Get on the road, errand boys,” said Gabe.

 

Sam was standing by a truck waiting to be driven into town for another round of wheeling and dealing. And maybe a visit to a cute girl. Who was definitely not a demon. Probably. Rufus stood nearby, the inevitable smoke in his hands, doing not much of anything. Ash and Victor were already sitting on the bed of the truck.

Sam hadn't been able to keep a thought intruding on his mind: do I really want to escape? A few weeks ago the answer would have been clear. But his life right now: well, it wasn't great, obviously, but the runs into town provided a modicum of interest to his day. He thought of Dean, and how he wanted to live to see his pigheaded brother again. He smiled. The war couldn't last forever, right? He had had enough of adventure, he thought. Maybe he should just tough it out here, and then after the war, he could do the white picket fence thing. And then, well, Dean would get the pleasure of kicking his ass, as he’d threatened to when Sam joined the Michaelistas.

He heard the creak as some of the guards started to pull the main gate open. Rufus ditched his cigarette butt. Sam noticed a couple of guys were filing out of Balthazar's building over on the other side of the camp. They were trying to be low key about it, but he recognized the faces. They must have just had a meeting of the top guys. 

One of them came over close to where he and Rufus were standing. He didn't look good. In fact, he looked like shit. Sam tried to remember his name: this guy often sat in on the poker games, though he usually didn't say much.

“Uh, Camaeus?” said Sam. 

The guy didn't respond. Instead, he stared out the gate.

Sam elbowed Rufus, who was instantly at attention. “Camaeus,” he said, softly but distinctly. But once again, the guy paid him no attention.

“Camaeus,” said Rufus. “Look at me.”

“Camaeus?” asked Sam, who was now growing concerned.

“Rufus,” muttered Camaeus absently.

“What's going on, buddy?” asked Rufus. 

“Bad news,” Camaeus whispered. Sam noticed both Victor and Ash were leaning over, trying to catch what he said.

“Now, why don't you talk about it. Can't be that bad,” said Rufus.

Camaeus finally looked over to Sam and Rufus. His expression made Sam's heart stop.

“Yes it can,” he said.

And then he was running.

“Camaeus!' said Sam. Rufus reached over and grabbed Sam to prevent him from running after. But Camaeus was already at the gate, and then streaking past the surprised guards.

One of the guards – Sam recognized him as one of the red-eyed ones – raised his rifle, but another guard, a black-eye, pushed it down. And then, to Sam's astonishment, the black-eyed demon actually smiled. Sam gulped. He had never seen one of them smile before, and now he never wanted to see it again.

Camaeus was a little ways down the road, but then, like someone had snapped their fingers, he was on fire, as if he’d been splashed with gasoline and lit with a match. He screamed, an anguished wail. He ran a few more steps, and then he collapsed. He writhed, and made a feeble attempt at rolling on the ground.

And then he went utterly still.

“Help him!” said Sam. 

One of the guards turned and smirked at Sam. And then, like it was nothing, a couple of them wandered casually out to what was left of Camaeus. He had burnt out by that time, nothing but a twisted, charred thing that didn't even much resemble a man. The guards came up to him and gave him a little kick, to see if there was some life in him. 

There was not.

The guards made a point of looking back at the crowd that was now gathered at the gate. Just about everyone was out by that time, standing in silent horror.

“They want us to see. Bastards,” muttered Rufus.

“Balthazar,” said Sam. 

Balthazar, who had run out to see, looked at Sam and Rufus, his face a mask of pain.

“What the hell happened to him?” asked Sam. “What the fuck?”

“Sometimes, guys just go stir crazy. It happens,” said Rufus.

“No,” said Balthazar.

“What?” asked Sam.

Balthazar shook his head. “We've had some bad news.”

Sam and Rufus looked at each other. The smell of charred flesh hung in the air.

 

Dean was never quite as happy as when he was behind the wheel.

But this car? Holy Jesus! 

He admitted to himself, he should probably be in a crap mood right now. Instead of the heroic rescue mission he had fantasized, here he was being an errand boy for some two-bit fake witch doctor. What the hell kind of angel worked out of a fucking strip mall? Angels! They were just … weird.

Cas, who had readily agreed to letting Dean drive, was sitting in the passenger seat, rifling through the bags and boxes and bins of stuff they'd already acquired, ticking off the seemingly endless list.

“Remember to check off that eye of newt!” suggested Dean.

“I have already checked it,” Cas told him. 

“Sure you don’t wanna drive?”

“I find driving … mildly annoying actually,” said Cas, tugging at his tie.

Dean frowned. “So, we gonna go after those vampire tears now?”

“I think we can skip that item,” said Cas, crossing it out.

“Hey, why? I thought you and your brother said there were vampires!”

“Yes,” said Cas. He looked at Dean. “As Bobby might say, they are unpleasant shitheads.”

“I haven't met a vampire before.”

“You have not encountered one that you have recognized as such,” said Cas. “And here is the unpleasant thing: in order to collect vampire tears, you need to leave the things … alive. Or rather, animated. Or … whatever they are.”

“Sooooo. You telling me you can't handle a live vampire?”

Cas drew up, as if offended. “Naturally I can 'handle' a vampire. They are no match for us.”

Dean shrugged. 

“All right, Dean,” said Cas. “We will seek out a vampire. But do not feel entitled to lodge complaint afterwards that the encounter was unpleasant.”

“Sure thing, dude,” smiled Dean. “Which way, Van Helsing?”

“Left ahead,” said Cas. “That book contained innumerable inaccuracies!”

“Oh, like what?”

“Wooden stakes are not terribly useful against the undead. Here,” he added, rummaging through a bag and tossing something small to Dean. 

Dean glanced down at it. It was a small vial filled with a yellowy powder. “Am I supposed to snort this?” he asked.

“Just put some on. It interferes with the vampire's sense of smell.”

Dean shrugged and popped the top. “Smells like an Indian restaurant. So, vampire fact: vampires do not like curry!” After sprinkling some over his head, he handed the vial back to Cas.

“Do you not take anything seriously?” asked Cas.

“Dean fact: Dean does not take anything seriously.” He glanced over at Cas. “But what about you? You seem like you've lost the funny bone. Is the necktie too tight?”

“Encounters with the undead seem to pique my irritability,” said Cas, self-consciously pulling at his rumpled necktie.

“You've dealt with Bela Lugosi before?”

Cas nodded. He pointed, and they turned into a strip mall. It looked a little classier than any of the ones Gabriel occupied.

“Where are we going?” asked Dean.

Cas inclined his head. Dean looked over, blinking.

“The tanning salon?” Dean asked. “You're joking, right?”

The grin was back. “So, where are you least likely to go looking for a vampire, Dean?” asked Cas.

“Well....” said Dean.

“And, what do those booths look like to you?”

“Well, big coffins,” said Dean. “Huh. So it's like, hide in plain sight?”

“They are annoying. Not stupid.”

“So,” said Dean, noticing Cas shuffling in the bags. “What's the plan?”

“Usually, I run into difficulties with these sorts of errands. Evidently, angelic blood is not palatable to them, so my presence does not tempt them. Secondly, the power differential with these creatures is too wide, so I will often end up smiting them when I only mean to incapacitate them temporarily.”

“Don't know you're own strength, huh?” asked Dean. Cas nodded smugly. “But I thought vampires were supposed to be strong?”

Cas actually snorted. “They're stronger than humans. But that's not saying much.”

“Nice. I think I've just been insulted,” said Dean. “By an angel.” Cas chuckled, but didn't deny it. “So, OK, smart guy, what do we do?”

“Well, now I have some nice human blood to offer them.”

“You...? Oh, wait a minute! Hang on there! I'm gonna be vampire McNuggets?” asked Dean.

“I don’t understand that reference, Dean. But may I remind you, who wanted to see a vampire?” asked Cas.

“You don’t eat fast food?” asked Dean. 

“That sort of thing would not be readily accessible in No Man’s Land,” said Cas.

“OK, we’ll gather vamp tears, and then we’ll go get burgers!” said Dean.

“Well. All right. Now, here is what I want you to do. I hope this will not go against your no doubt closely held principles as an officer of the law,” said Castiel.

Some minutes later, Dean was around back, trying to look casual. As it looked like the coast was clear, he took out his pick and started in on the door. It yielded quickly. “Now I just hope vamps don’t have alarm systems,” he whispered to himself as he gently pushed the door open.

It was dark, so he turned on the flashlight Cas had loaned him and headed for the register up front, trying to look for all the world like a normal burglar. “Uh, here I am, all full of tasty hemoglobin and stuff,” he muttered, looking around nervously. There was silence. He suddenly wondered if he had used too much saffron, self-consciously sniffing an armpit to make sure.

He pretended to be baffled by the register, but finally popped it open, and was momentarily distracted by the take. “Damn, why did I go into law enforcement instead of frying people into crispy critters?” he muttered, pulling out an impressive was of cash.

He froze. He wasn’t sure what made him do it: he hadn’t heard a sound. 

No, he smelled it. There was something in the room that was not alive.

Something behind him.

He leaned over the cash drawer, pretending to be fiddling with it. Suddenly he yanked it out, the whole drawer, turned and hurled it at whatever was standing behind him.

He let out a gasp. It had been hovering right over him. He should have felt the breath on his neck. Oh, that’s right, they didn’t breathe.

It took a half step back, looking annoyed, but was on him in a flash, slamming him down on the counter, pinning him. He instantly saw what Cas meant about these things being annoying. It just didn’t look alive, with horrible waxy skin, and, Dean now found out, the world’s worst breath.

Oh, that's right: they didn't breathe. It just plain stunk.

Remembering his experience with the demons, Dean went for a sensitive point, bringing his knee up right in its crotch.

The thing frowned slightly.

And then, with a little click, it extended a pair of fangs, yellowy as the rest of its sorry teeth.

“Cas!” shouted Dean. But suddenly the thing went into a spasm. Its body jerked, and then there was a white light shooting out of its eyes and mouth. It keeled over, plopping on the floor, to reveal Cas standing behind it.

“Dammit!” said Cas, who stooped down to examine the creature. “I didn’t mean to smite him.”

“Do you think you cut it a little close there?” asked Dean, rubbing his still pristine neck. “I was gonna be vamp kibble!”

“You were in no danger. What is kibble?” But Dean had no time for an explanation, as he found himself suddenly flung against a wall. Somehow, some more vampires had appeared, silently as the first. 

Struggling to keep his feet, Dean reached for his belt as one of them charged him. He pulled out the iron knife Cas had loaned him and brought it straight up into the creature’s lower jaw, where it stuck into its mouth. The vampire reeled back. “Bit me now, bitch!” Dean taunted. But it didn’t have a chance, as Cas now had it by the scruff of the neck. 

“Look at that! He just gave all your friends a good smiting!” said Dean, indicating the vampires Cas had just evidently left lying, limp, on the floor. 

“Eh,” said the vampire, knife still in its jaw, who didn’t look terribly concerned.

Dean looked questioningly at Cas, who was sneering at the vampire. “And now we’re gonna take your money,” Cas told it, picking up a wad of cash and waving it at the vamp.

“Wha-? Noooo!” it gurgled.

“Get the vial,” Cas told Dean.

 

“We had news,” said Balthazar.

The mood in the camp had been strained since Camaeus's sudden death. Sam sat on a packing crate, wishing he smoked cigarettes so he would have something to do with his hands. And here he had stupidly considered himself safe. 

“What kinda news, Balthy?” asked Rufus, as they watched Chuck and Ash spread lines of rock salt at the doorway and across the windowsills of the common room. 

“There are rumblings that the powers that be are going to do some … consolidation,” said Balthazar. “Among the various detainees. They shall pack up this entire camp, and send us on to a more … central location.”

“Are they gonna mix us in with the political prisoners?” asked Sam. 

“They might consider sending us to Tucson,” said Balthazar.

“Oh. Fuck,” said Rufus. “Balthy, you gotta get outta here.”

“We _all_ need to get out of here,” said Balthazar.

“What's going on?” asked Sam.

“There's rumors about that place,” said Rufus. “Bad ones.”

“Lucifer has certain grievances against various races,” explained Balthazar. “He has never cared for humans: that is one of the seeds of the present confilct.”

“He's got a grudge against angels,” said Rufus.

“Wait? Other angels?” said Sam.

“Hates ‘em worse than humans, for selling him out I guess,” said Rufus. “There’s entire neighborhoods, angel ones, where everybody has just disappeared.”

“Scuttlebutt has it that Tucson is not a proper internment camp,” said Balthazar. “But rather, a death camp.”

“OK. Absolutely no part of that sounds good,” said Sam.

“So what are we doin’, boss?” asked Rufus.

“We need to move up the timeline,” said Balthazar. “Spread the word.”

Rufus nodded, and he and Sam left the room, being careful not to break any of the salt lines.

“Rufus,” whispered Sam when they were between cabins.

“I don’t like this,” said Rufus. “Better to wait for a full moon, when we got the maximum power from everything.”

“Rufus,” Sam repeated. “Balthazar…?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s an angel. Right?”

Rufus looked right and left, and then hustled Sam over into the shadows. He nodded. “Kid, that entire bunk house full of guys. They ain’t troublemakers. They’re all angels. Camaeus too. Or at least he was.”

Sam’s eyes widened. It was difficult to keep his voice down. “What…. All of them? But they’re all foreigners. Like me.”

“Yeah. Only thing keeping ‘em alive, I’d think.”

“There’s angels living outside the West?” Sam searched his memories, wondering now about pretty much everyone he’d ever met.

“Of course. You just gotta know where to look. But one thing is clear here: Balthazar or any of those folks go to Tucson, they’re as good as dead. I’ve heard stories: you think Camaeus was bad, you ain’t seen nothing.”

Sam nodded glumly. It seemed unfair: he was just learning about magic, and now the world seemed bound and determined to snuff it out.

“Come on,” said Rufus. “We don’t want any attention.” Without waiting for Sam, Rufus turned and stalked off towards their bunkhouse. Sam followed him, more slowly, lost in thought.

 

“Hi, honey, we're home!” bellowed Dean as he and Cas came in one of the back doors of Gabe’s office. “And we got vampire tears!” he added, waving a bag.

Cas followed Dean in the door. He was carrying a number of bags, and had his mouth around a Big Mac. 

“What’s that stench?” asked Dean, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like a dead skunk taking a shit.” Cas pushed ahead, indicating that Dean should follow, and they passed through a door hung with beaded curtains.

Gabe was inside, hunched over a bowl filled with something that he’d set afire. He seemed to be in some kind of trance. His eyes were closed, and he was muttering in a strange language.

“Is that Enochian?” Dean asked Cas.

“Yes,” said Cas, dumping his bags on an already cluttered table, and indicating Dean should do the same. Cas thumped down on a divan and began devote his complete attention to his hamburger. “These represent a pleasant diversion following an encounter with the undead.”

“How can you eat with that stink?” asked Dean.

Cas shrugged and grinned. “Used to it I guess.”

Dean wasn’t certain how anyone could become used to an odor like that. He considered moving to another room for the duration when he heard Gabe suddenly shout something. It sounded like cursing, but it wasn’t in English. 

Gabe threw a towel over the bowl, extinguishing the flames. He sat back, a look of horror on his face. He looked up, and seemed to realize that Cas and Dean were in the room with him. 

He sat forward and said something to Cas in Enochian. Cas actually looked up from his meal and replied in kind. This went back and forth a few rounds.

“What’s up?” asked Dean.

“Uriel,” Gabe told Dean. 

“A urinal?” asked Dean. “Sure smells like a men’s room.”

“Uriel,” repeated Gabe. “I caught sight of him. His presence is … strong.”

“Who the hell is he, and why should I care?” asked Dean.

“He's an angel. Like us. Or not like us,” said Gabe. “A real hard liner.”

“What is he doing over here? I thought he was one of Michael’s soldiers?” asked Cas.

“I don’t know,” muttered Gabriel. “But I know one thing. He had a specialty.”

“What kinda specialty?” asked Dean.

“Well, you had situations where you’d get a whole town or village disobedient, Uriel was the go to guy,” said Gabe as Cas handed him a McFlurry with Oreo cookies.

“He’d get them in line?” asked Dean.

“No. He’d smite them,” said Gabe, taking the plastic lid off his ice cream and carelessly tossing it aside.

“He’d smite whole towns?” asked Dean.

“Haven’t you read the bible, kiddo?” asked Gabe, spooning ice cream. “Our Father was big on the smiting.”

“Does this mean my brother is in danger?” asked Dean.

“It means we’re all in danger,” said Gabe, who seemed serious. He pointed with his pink ice cream spoon. “Look, I think what we do is, I’ll do a location spell for your brother, and then we’ll take a road trip.”

“What, all of us?” asked Dean.

“All of us,” said Gabe. “It’ll cost me a couple days business, but I need to follow up on this.” He was rummaging through the bags of ingredients, dripping melted ice cream on them. “You guys bring me the vampires tears?”

Dean held up a baggie containing a vial.

“Excellent,” said Gabe.

“Vampires are assholes,” said Dean.

“I warned you, Dean,” said Cas. Cas dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to Gabe. It was a wad of cash.

“Is that from the cash drawer?” asked Dean.

“Yeah,” said Cas.

“I don’t believe you robbed them!” said Dean.

“They’re vampires,” laughed Gabe.

“But…” said Dean. “I’m a cop.”

“Oh, reminds me, I found you these,” said Gabe, hauling out a stack of clothing. 

Dean picked through them. Well worn jeans, a sturdy pair of shoes, some soft cotton shirts. “I’ll have to see if they fit,” he said, picking up the stack.

“Of course they fit,” said Gabe.

“Is there some place I could change?” asked Dean, who wanted to get away from the stench of Gabe’s smell more than anything. Cas grinned and inclined his head, and Dean followed him out of the room and down the hallway. “So, is this place bigger on the inside than on the outside or something?”

“It depends on which location you deem the outside, Dean,” said Cas, who flicked on the lights an entered a room with more couches in the middle and a bunch of cabinets pushed against the walls. Dean tossed the stack of clothing down on a couch, sat down and gratefully untied off his painful shoes. He pulled off his socks and wriggled his toes.

“You have blisters,” said Cas. “My brother has something for that,” he said. 

“That would be great,” said Dean. Cas went to a big cabinet on the back wall that had about a hundred tiny drawers in it. Cas set down his hamburger and started to poke around in the cabinet, nosing into drawers.

Dean threw off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. “So, are you sure about this Cas?”

“Sure about which herb?” muttered Cas, all of whose attention seemed now focused on the little vials of ingredients.

“Gabe just seems a little…. Um….”

“We will guide you to your brother, and then we will rescue your brother.”

“You seem awfully confident.”

“Demons are no match for us. And they are far less wily than vampires.”

“If you say so.”

“This is the one,” said Cas triumphantly. He turned to face Dean, holding up a small bottle. “Uh….”

“What do you think?” asked Dean, who was just zipping up his newly acquired jeans. Said jeans, parenthetically, also happened to be the only item of clothing he was now wearing. “I’ll say one thing, I think I’m gonna let your brother get all my clothes now. I fucking hate shopping for pants. Huh, Cas? Cas?”

Dean looked up from his spiffy jeans to Cas, who was staring dumbly. Cas’ face had turned a rather fetching shade of crimson.

“Cas, you OK?” asked Dean.

“I’ll, uh, leave this,” said Cas, who, lowering his eyes, handed Dean the bottle and then started to bolt towards the door.

“Cas!” said Dean, grabbing his arm, restraining him. He could feel the angel trembling.

“Uh. What?” Cas slowly raised his eyes to meet Dean’s. 

Dean stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was going on. Cas suddenly looked terrified. “You OK?” asked Dean.

Cas nodded, his eyes flicking up and down Dean’s body.

Dean nodded over towards the cabinet. “You left your burger,” he said softly.

“Oh,” said Cas, whirling around towards the cabinet. He leapt over, grabbed his burger, and then was out of the room in a split second.

Dean stood for a moment, shaking his head. “Angels,” he muttered, unfolding a well worn T shirt. “Hey, cool, Metallica!”


	4. Exodus

**Title:** Exodus (Perseides, Chapter 4 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.   
**Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000 total  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.  
 **Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

Sam was wiping up salt. He had overturned the shaker on the table between them, and a small stream of white crystals had spilled out over the tablecloth.

“Sorry, Ruby,” he said. “Did I get any on your dress?”

“I don’t wear dresses,” she muttered, edging farther from any grains that had ended up on the wooden bench beside her. Sam courteously got up and swept a hand along the bench, causing the girl to cringe, and then relax. “Try to be less clumsy, OK?” she asked.

He hadn’t meant to do it. Really. His arm had bumped it over. “You know what you do when you spill salt!” Sam smiled.

“No. What do you do, genius?” grumbled Ruby. The pouty-faced girl hadn’t been in the best of moods to start out with, and now she seemed even grumpier.

“You throw it over your left shoulder,” said Sam, suddenly unscrewing the saltshaker. He noticed that Ruby once again turned pale. Sam casually tossed a handful of salt over his back, and then refastened the shaker, to her obvious relief.

“Sorry. Superstitious,” said Sam.

“I didn’t think Easterners were superstitious,” said Ruby, who was momentarily distracted by the arrival of the waitress with their lunches. Sam took the opportunity to cast a glance over his shoulder down the road from the cafe where they sat. His drivers still weren’t back. Good.

He turned back and started picking at his salad. “We can be superstitious,” he said. “I mean, we’ve all heard about stuff like angels. And demons. We just don’t meet them every day.”

“Not gonna run into any angels around here,” Ruby said definitively, cutting into her steak.

“Really. Why is that?” asked Sam.

“I dunno. I guess they just all, you know, took a hike,” she told him.

“That’s too bad,” said Sam.

“Why?”

“Well, I would have like to have met one,” he said, poking at some wilted lettuce.

“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Really? So, what are they like?”

“Like you and me,” Ruby told him, dabbing a bit of blood on her chin with a worn cloth napkin. The steak was rare. Very rare. “Only with a stick jammed up their ass,” she said. “Why are you so jumpy?”

Sam turned back around. Ash had just gotten back to the truck, and given him the high sign. “Me? Oh, nothing. Funny, there’s rumors going around the camp that the foreigners are planning something.”

Ruby looked shrewd. “Foreigners? You’re a foreigner.”

“I mean the guys from overseas? They have ‘em all bunched together in one bunkhouse. They seem really secretive,” he told her, poking again at his wilted lettuce.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know. My family doesn’t like me to mix with … foreigners.”

“I’d like to meet them.”

“Meet who?” asked Ruby, looking baffled.

“Your family, of course,” said Sam.

“Oh. Uh, I don't think we're ready for that. Do you?”

Sam smiled. “Probably not,” he admitted. He turned and glanced at the truck. “Sorry to cut lunch short,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back. Gonna get in trouble.”

“No problem,” said Ruby, who also hopped to her feet, wiping a bit of blood on her chin. “I gotta go.”

Sam nodded. Ruby tossed some money down on the table and was already hastening off. Sam walked back to the truck. Ash and Victor were already there. He jumped up on the truck bed, gave the side a thump, and they were off.

 

“All rightie!” said Gabe, who had been running around all morning packing this, that and the other into the capacious trunk of the black Impala while, with increasing impatience, Dean and Cas watched. 

“What are you packing, Gabe?” Cas complained. “What do we need besides a couple guns and knives and some salt?”

Dean smiled and decided Cas was his kind of guy. _Wait._ “Salt?” he asked.

“Demons!” both Cas and Gabe answered.

“Oh, that’s right, you told me that,” said Dean. 

“Look, guys, I know it’s hard to forget, since the fighting has moved on, but we’re in a war zone,” said Gabe. “A war zone where I hear some guys keep rooms full of clipped angel wings.” 

“That’s just a stupid rumor,” scoffed Cas.

Gabe held out a long coat to Cas. “Here, try this one. It’s gonna be cold.”

“I don’t get cold,” said Cas.

“Humans get cold. You’re gonna pass for one,” said Gabe.

Cas grumbled almost as badly as when Bobby had made him don the suit, but slipped on an old tan overcoat, which also looked at least a size too big for him. “I am wearing too many layers of clothes! I’ll never be able to get out my wings this way!”

“No, no wings! Never!” Gabe scolded Cas. “Remember, we are not angels. That means no angel names. You are Cas and I am Gabe and that’s it. No talking Enochian, no smiting, no wings, no flying….”

“Aw, Gabe, that’s being overly cautious,” Cas complained. “No one is going to clip my wings.”

“Not on my watch they’re not,” said Gabe.

“Well, I have some rules of the road too,” said Dean, impatiently jingling the car keys.

“What would that be, Dean?” asked Cas.

“Driver picks the music. Everybody else, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”

“Your rules sound hauntingly familiar,” said Cas, who was nonetheless grinning again.

“And here’s the last rule!” said Dean. “Get in the damn car, or we drive off without you!” He hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The motor ground to life with a rumble. Cas grinned at Gabe and hopped in the passenger seat.

“Hey, you didn’t call shotgun!” yelled Gabe. The car lurched forward, sending Gabe running after it, his hands still full of things to pack. He flung open the back seat and jumped in.

Dean was on the road before Gabe had gotten the door shut.

 

_Shit, Rufus was right_ , thought Sam. I meet a cute girl for the first time in six fucking months, and she’s a demon. He shook his head. 

“Whatsamatter, Gigantor?” asked Ash. He and Victor were now sitting in the nearly empty truck bed with Sam as they rumbled down the road, feeling every bump and pothole. And, as they hadn't been doing highway maintenance around here, there were many bumps and potholes. “You haven’t said word one since we pulled outta town!”

“Sam. My name is Sam,” said Sam, who smiled nevertheless. “Not Gigantor, or Moose, or Hulk, or Chewie....”

“Were you successful, _Sam_?” asked Victor, eyeing Sam up and down.

“Well, I learned two things about my girl today,” sighed Sam. “One, she doesn’t like me spilling the table salt….”

“Ouch,” said Ash.

“And two, hearing about news of the ‘foreigners’ makes her jumpy. Oh, and three, as a bonus, she doesn’t want me to meet her folks.”

“Chick’s probably got the bodies stuffed in barrels in the basement,” laughed Ash.

“Not real funny, Ash,” said Sam.

“Hey, what’s going on up ahead?” asked Victor. The three all leaned out of the truck bed to peer ahead at the camp. There was a lot of activity. Sam was down out of the truck bed before they had even come to a halt.

Rufus was peering up at him. 'You delivered the package?” he asked, taking a puff off his cigarette.

Sam nodded silently, looking over to the other end of the camp. They seemed to be rounding up everybody from Balthazar's cabin.

“I dunno who your gal Ruby works for, but you know how to pick 'em, kid,” said Rufus.

“I don't understand,” said Sam. “I mean, how did they move so quickly?”

“It don't matter,” said Rufus. 

“How did you know she was a demon, Rufus?” asked Sam.

“Of course she was a demon,” laughed Victor. Sam looked at Victor, annoyed. That guy never laughed.

“She was totally a demon, dude,” put in Ash.

“Because she shot you down?” Victor asked Ash. Sam listened with interest. He hadn’t known about this part.

“Repeatedly?” added Rufus.

“No mortal woman can long resist my intense awesomeness!” said Ash, which even made Sam laugh.

“You guys set?” Rufus asked Ash and Victor. They nodded. “Let's quit fucking around and move.”

As all of the attention (and the guards) were now focused on the angels, there was little notice when many of the other prisoners casually filed into a bunkhouse across the camp. “Frank's got papers for you,” Rufus told Sam as they entered the cabin. “Be sure to stop by.” There was a flurry of activity inside, with people spreading out salt, gathering weird ingredients, and painting strange sigils everywhere. “And soon. They’re expecting the angels were gonna cast this spell, not us.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Frank,” he grumbled.

“I know you don't like the son of a bitch,” sighed Rufus. “No one does. But he's good at what he does. And get a move on. Once they find us, we're boned.”

Sam nodded. “I'll go now. Get it over with. I won't be much help with this anyway,” he said, ducking a couple of guys carrying a flaming bowl of something. He turned to leave.

Rufus grabbed his arm. “You'll remember the rendezvous point?” he asked.

“Look, Rufus, I'll be right back. Don't spaz.”

Rufus stared at him. “You're not used to this spell casting business, but things are gonna get very weird, very fast. Now, you remember your rendezvous point?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, Rufus.”

The older man released his arm.

“I'll be right back,” Sam told him. He hastened over to the bunkhouse that Frank had transformed into his forgery headquarters. He noticed with some annoyance that, despite orders to the contrary, Frank had spread his doorway with salt and painted in some sigils. The warding signs were at least partially hidden, but obvious if you knew where to look. And the guards obviously knew where to look.

He considered giving Frank shit, but decided to shut up and just grab his papers from the guy. He steeled himself, and entered.

“Oh, it’s you! How the hell am I supposed to hide a fucking bull moose from big brother?” Frank grumbled.

“Hello, Frank.” Frank was sitting at the rough table in his room. A pair of eyes glared up at Sam through coke-bottle bottom eyeglasses.

“I can give you IDs, but every black-eye in the state is gonna be looking for the escaped Wookiee. Have you considered shaving your head? And stooping?”

“Frank, me going Kojak? I think I'd just be more conspicuous, don't you?” sighed Sam.

“Well, thank your little demon girlfriend if you get your ass caught,” snorted Frank.

“She's not my- Look, can I just get my papers?”

“Here's your train tickets,” said Frank, handing Sam two oblong pieces of paper. “Don't lose them! Otherwise, you're walking home.”

“OK. Fine.”

“And I've got a variety of IDs,” said Frank, spilling some cards onto the table.

Sam picked one up and goggled. “Jimmy Buffet? Oh, crap.”

“You know how long it took to stencil in that state ID, kid? It’s got a hologram!” he bragged, picking it up and flashing it in the light.

“OK, OK, OK. It's fine,” sighed Sam, pocketing the cards. “I just hope to hell my brother never sees this.”

“No one is ever gonna see this,” grumbled Frank, he mien suddenly changing from dark to darker. “We're all dead. You know that. They're gonna cart our asses to Tuscon, and then it's so long, senoritas. Angels get their wings pulled, and who the fuck knows what happens to us.”

“Well, that's keeping a positive mental attitude,” grumbled Sam. He knew he should just shut up, but he couldn't help it.

“Positive mental attitude gets you killed,” Frank retorted.

“I thought you just said we were all dead anyway,” sighed Sam. “Hey, wait. What's that noise?”

It wasn't so much a noise as a hum, just at the low range of his hearing. And the air pressure seemed to change.

Sam jumpsed as Frank suddenly knocked over his table and dragged it towards the wall. “It's going down. Now.” He pushed some crates in front of the table.

“But it's early,” said Sam, checking his watch.

“Come on,” said Frank, yanking on Sam's arm and tugging him towards the makeshift barricade.

“I gotta get back to Rufus and the guys,” said Sam, wresting away and making for the door.

“No! Kid, you don't wanna be outside when shit goes down!”

“You said we're dead anyway,” said Sam, pushing open the door. He didn't know whether he could make it back, but he knew damned well he didn't want to be stuck escaping with Frank.

There was an odd silence over the camp. And the sky had darkened. Sam pulled his coat around him and hunched over, walking into the wind.

He stopped. The humming changed pitch.

All of the sigils in the prison walls had started to glow.

“Guys, what the fuck are you doing?” Sam muttered.

Now there was a cacophony: noises, movement. From somewhere across the camp, he heard shouts. Guns going off. 

The ground shook. Sam was thrown from his feet. Sirens. The humming suddenly got louder, screeching up in pitch. Sam covered his ears.

Sam crawled into the shadow of a bunkhouse wall, curling into the fetal position, bracing himself.

 

Dean was sure he’d made a wrong turn and taken them back to No Man’s Land. Once they had gotten out of town, he’d seen nothing for miles but desert.

He turned down the stereo. “So,” he asked Cas. “You can tell stuff like who’s a vampire? Can other people – people who aren’t human – tell who’s an angel?”

“You mean can demons spot us?” Gabe called from the back seat. 

“Don’t let your ice cream melt on the upholstery,” scolded Dean. Somehow, Gabe had managed to pack a bunch of frozen ice cream bars. Whatever magic or angel mojo or whatever he was using to keep them cold wasn’t perfect however, 

“Geez, you’d think this was your car,” chuckled Gabe.

“This is my car,” smiled Dean. “She likes me, I can tell.”

“A car is an inanimate object, without emotional inclinations,” said Cas.

“But in answer to your question,” said Gabe, between taking his tongue up the side of the drippy cone, “it depends. Most of your run of the mill demons are lucky they can tie their own shoes. But there's some of the higher ups, the older guys, who are a little more on the ball.”

“So, not all demons are alike?” asked Dean. 

“There's as many varieties as there are humans,” slurped Gabe.

“It's a demonic small world, after all,” mused Dean.

“Oh, now I'll have that wretched song in my head for the next day. Thanks a lot, Dean!” snapped Gabe.

“What song?” asked Cas. Cas slumped in his seat and started to raise his feet. One warning look from Dean told him to keep them off the dashboard. He fiddled with his tie uncomfortably. “I could take off my shoes,” he said.

“Keep the shoes on!” nagged Gabe. 

“I don’t need them,” Cas insisted.

“Humans need shoes and you’re human, kid!” said Gabe.

“You sound like Bobby,” grumbled Cas.

“You know, Cas,” said Dean, “you’re lucky you have people like Bobby and Jody and your brother.”

“That’s what I keep telling him, ungrateful little shit!” echoed Gabe.

Cas was still scowling, so Dean continued, “Sam and I, we lost our mom when we were really young, so we ended up being shuffled around to people who didn’t much care, to be honest.”

“What about your father, Dean?” Cas said softly.

“Bastard disappeared on us. Guess he wasn’t the family type.” Dean tried to control his anger, although it was never easy when thoughts of John Winchester came to mind. “Sammy and I had only each other.”

“Which is why you need to find him,” said Cas.

“Will you pull off at that diner up ahead?” asked Gabe. “I'm feeling hypoglycemic.”

“You're … what?” asked Dean. “Dude, you put away like ten gallons of ice cream! And dribbled half of it on my back seat!”

But given that Gabe threatened consequences of apocalyptic proportions if he was not fed, Dean pulled over by a diner that stood all by itself on the lonely highway. There were gas pumps outside, so Dean took advantage to fill up the tank while the angels went inside. Gabe told him there was some rationing, so he didn't want to take any chances that his Baby would go hungry.

Dean entered the diner, and immediately got the feeling of being watched. Cop senses again, he thought. Unobtrusively as possible, he scanned the room. A couple of people had looked up from their plates when he entered, but no more than you would expect. He found the booth where Cas and Gabe were sitting and slid in next to Cas, who was watching Gabe down an obscenely humongous ice cream sundae.

“Eat dessert first,” advised Gabe. “Because you never know what's comin'.”

“We have ordered you a burger, Dean. I hope this is satisfactory?” Cas told him.

“No, that's great,” said Dean, who had to admit he was getting hungry. “Hey, you guys,” he said softly, leaning forward. “I get this funny feeling in here. Like we're being watched.”

The angels exchanged a glance that Dean couldn't read. “We're fine,” said Gabe. “Oh, look, here's the rest of the food.” And truly, just then the waitress came by with platters of lunch. Dean got a huge burger heaped with cheese and bacon and tomatoes and onions and mushrooms and just about anything else you could pile on a slab of meat. Gabe got a delicious smelling apple pie, and Cas some kind of sandwich, which he proceeded to nibble dubiously. 

“You gonna eat that?” Dean asked Cas.

“He's always been a picky eater,” said Gabe to a glare from Cas.

“Reminds me of my brother. Big guy,” said Dean, holding his hand up. “Lives on rabbit food. I don't understand.”

“Don't worry, we will find your brother, Dean,” said Cas, suddenly serious.

“I know. Did you want that other half of your sandwich?” asked Dean, who was already grabbing for it.

Just then, the door opened, and some men walked in. Dean had that tickling sensation again, so watched them walk in. He looked back to the table, where he noticed Cas and Gabe were also watching.

“What?” asked Dean.

“We'll take care of it,” whispered Cas.

“Remember, no smiting,” muttered Gabe.

“I wasn't gonna smite!” said Cas.

“Yes you were.”

“Wasn't,” insisted Cas.

“Hey,” said Dean. Cas and Gabe looked over at him. 

“Yeah?” said Gabe.

“You guys think it would be OK if I ordered a slice of pie?”

Cas and Gabe looked at each other, and then chorused, “Get it to go.”

 

_Am I alive?_

Sam painfully pulled himself to a sitting position. He rubbed the side of his face and was alarmed to see blood on his hands. He touched his fingers to his head. He must have been bleeding from his ears. He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to wipe it off as best he could without a mirror. Wouldn't do to wander around looking like he'd just been bashed by some crazy spell.

After a moment, he stood up and dusted himself off. He ran his hands over his body. No major cuts or scrapes, no missing limbs, and nothing seemed to be broken, that was good. He was still feeling a little woozy. He patted his pockets. Good, Frank's fake IDs and the train tickets were still in there.

He looked around and noticed with surprise that he was no longer in the camp. In fact, he couldn't even see the camp. Rufus had warned him, but still. This was fucking weird.

“Why didn't you just fly me back to Kansas?” he asked no one in particular. Hey, it had worked for Dorothy.

He was somewhere in the high desert, in a low canyon along a dry creek bed. He didn't have a GPS, but Balthazar had taught him a spell that supposedly pointed the way. He was new, so they hadn't trusted him with much of the occult stuff, but Rufus made sure he memorized this one. Well, good, looked like walking down the creek bed was more or less the right direction. He had no idea how far though, and he didn’t have a water bottle since he’d been caught unawares. At least the canyon wall offered some shade from the sun.

Sam squared his shoulders, and started to walk. 

 

Dean set the little plastic box containing his slice of Dutch apple pie down on the counter and handed over the money to the girl behind the register. Then, being very careful to grab his pie, he exited the diner.

He wasn't surprised to see some guys hanging around outside. He didn't see Cas or Gabe anywhere, which made him nervous. 

He shrugged and fished out the car keys. He was just about to open the door when he felt a presence behind him. Two guys, he thought. He let the key drop back into his pocket and, after very carefully setting down his slice of pie on the hood, turned around.

“You guys got a problem?”

It was two: the guys who had come into the cafe and tripped off the angel alarms. 

“Are you human, kid?” asked the one, a snaggle-toothed redhead.

“Not that it's your business, but, yeah, last I checked in the mirror.”

“Then you're consorting with the wrong kind of people,” the guy told him. His buddy, a big, ruddy-faced blond, cracked his knuckles.

“No law says I can't choose my friends,” said Dean.

“We're the law around here,” said the redhead. 

“And their sort,” said the blond, “they ain't friends to nobody.”

“You watch yourself,” said the redhead.

“I'll be careful,” said Dean, turning back towards the car.

“You'll be dead,” said the redhead, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him back around.

The redhead got a face full of salt for the effort. He screeched in pain and fell back, temporarily blinded. 

The big guy lunged for Dean, but all of a sudden, Cas was between them, giving the guy a good smack to the jaw. It was actually an amazing smack to the jaw: the guy went flying, and Cas was after him.

The redhead scrambled to his feet, but then Gabriel, who had also just appeared from nowhere, grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the Impala.

“Watch my baby!' shouted Dean.

“What?” asked Gabe. The guy squirmed and lunged for Dean, but Dean threw an elbow into his throat. He gurgled, and collapsed to the ground.

“Hey, pretty good, copper,” said Gabe. “You're a natural demon-smiter!”

Gabe and Dean turned to the crashing sound. Cas had smacked the big demon right through the door to an outbuilding. Cas charged inside, Gabe and Dean running after him. They found him kneeling over the now unconscious demon. It was dark inside.

“Uh, I think we need to hit the road,” said Gabe.

“I should check Baby for scratches!” said Dean.

“You gave my car a name?” asked Gabe. But Cas pushed past Gabe and hit the light switch. And then everybody went silent.

“Is that.... Is that what I think it is?” asked Dean.

Now that the lights were on, Dean could see this was some kind of storage shed. It was a crazy mix of stuff: tools and pots and pans and supplies for the restaurant and fishing equipment and spare auto parts. 

Up on the far wall of the cluttered outbuilding was mounted a very large pair of light-feathered wings. They were far too big for any bird Dean had ever seen. That must mean….

Cas was there, reaching out a hand. Gabe grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Cas. Like I said. We gotta go.”

Cas turned. There were tears in his eyes. “Gabe....”

“We. Gotta. Go,” said Gabe. And then he had Cas by the back of the collar and was frog marching his kid brother out of the building and throwing him into the back seat of the car.

“Drive,” Gabe told Dean. Grabbing his pie off the hood, Dean jumped in and started the car.

“Did you guys know those were demons?” Dean asked Gabe as he drove off.

“Of course they were demons. That was a demon diner,” Gabe explained.

“What?” asked Dean. “Wait, you mean everybody....:”

“Yeah, everybody in there,” said Gabe, who cast a glance back at Cas, sitting in the back with his head in his hands. “Demons make the best cooks! Everybody knows that. And their ice cream! Heavenly!!”

Dean shrugged and drove on.

 

Sam had spotted the train tracks some time back. Though he felt vulnerable in the open, he hadn't come across any roads, or indeed any other people on his trek. He wondered if the spell had worked that way on purpose, or if he was just damned lucky?

The station was near. His rendezvous point. 

There was a lone, bare tree out here, so he sat in the shade for a moment, wishing he had had time to grab a water bottle, and all of the other essentials he'd packed and hidden under the floorboards. Well, he was out, he would deal.

He stood and started walking.

The station wasn't crowded, but he was surprised to see how many people were around, given how fucking remote this place seemed to be. He gathered from Rufus that it was mostly a place for the railway to swap out cars. He cast a surreptitious glance around for anyone he knew. He spotted a couple of familiar faces. They weren't supposed to acknowledge each other in any way, not until they had at least made it to a Santa Fe. His heart sunk when he realized Rufus himself wasn’t here. He hoped he had made it, along with Ash and Victor and even that idiot Frank.

There was Balthazar, though, looking cool as a cucumber, reading a newspaper. Sam didn’t spot any other angels though. Sam wondered how Balthazar had managed to escape when his cabin had been under such heavy guard, but he supposed they had their ways. 

Everyone on the platform looked up at the train whistle. Sam frowned and checked his watch. It was still twenty minutes early. He walked to the end of the platform and took a look, telling himself this was normal behavior. It was a freight train. Since he had nothing else to do, he watched it as it pulled closer. The track was on the other side of the station, near the opposite platform.

Sam knew as much about trains as he did about magic, but he could tell something was off about it. These cars looked like cattle cars, but that wasn't cattle inside. 

It was people. The train was absolutely crammed with people: sitting, standing, like the Tokyo subway at rush hour. But it was strange. And then it hit Sam: all those people, and not a single one spoke a word.

Some of the other people waiting on the platform had begun to talk quietly, and Sam caught a word that made his blood run cold. 

“Tucson.”

 

Dean looked over to where Gabe was loudly snoring, his face smooshed up against the window.

Drooling on his Baby!

He shook his head, and then cast a glance in the rear view mirror. “Hey, Cas,” he said softly. “You OK? Want some pie?” he asked, holding up the untouched slice.

Cas leaned forward, hooking his elbows over the bench seat, chin resting on his hands. 

“Did you know about that?” asked Dean. “People who … do that? To angels?” He found he couldn't even speak the words. And what would you call it, stripping a guy's wings off?

“I knew,” whispered Cas. “I guess.... I guess I just did not believe.”

“What's their beef, anyway? I mean, what is it with those people?”

“You are asking why anybody would hate my kind, Dean?” asked Cas, with a small, bitter laugh.

“Yeah?”

“I fail to see why any human could possibly find anything good or noble about my species,” said Cas. “We have devastated heaven, turned it to ashes, and now seem intent on repeating the feat on earth.”

“And you totally don’t remember … up there?”

“Not very much. As I have told you, if you are curious, you'd be better off talking to my brother. Perhaps he will tell you. Though he is ever elusive with me. As if the memories cause some pain.”

“Yeah, dude's kind of in an ice cream sundae coma right now.”

Cas laughed softly, and Dean smiled and glanced at Cas. “Hey, I dunno about other humans but I like my angels OK.”

“Dean, I… I like you too,” Cas blurted. 

Dean checked the mirror. Was Cas blushing? “Thanks, Cas. And you guys drive sweet cars!” ha added, pounding his hand on the steering wheel.

But then Cas was back to serious Cas again. “As far as Heaven is concerned, my only memories of my Father's house are of fire, and great chaos, and a weeping, as if the land itself were crying out. I was quite small, and terrified, clutching the hand of my elder brother with all my might, and quite unexpectedly standing in the middle of a great wasteland. And then Bobby Singer stepped up and reached out his hands, and pulled me up, holding me on his hip, and I clung to him as hard as I could, crying into his side. And he told me everything would be well, and I would be cared for. And I believed him.”

“You're close to Bobby, huh?”

“If it is possible for my kind to feel affection, then yes, I feel a great deal of affection for Bobby.”

“Wait. What? Whaddya mean, if it's possible for you to feel affection?”

“They say we do not possess feeling, or at least we do not process emotion in the same way as humans.”

“Well, who the hell are ‘they?’ And have you considered, maybe they don't go eating ice cream and punching demons with angels?”

“Ice cream?” came Gabe's groggy voice. “Where?”

“So where exactly are we headed, Sweet Tooth?” asked Dean.

Gabe yawned and stretched. “Well, in the near future, there's a roadhouse up ahead. They’re friendlies. Old friends, actually.”

“Uh, you mean, probably not people with a fucking cellar full of body parts?” grumbled Dean.

“It wasn't a cellar,” said Gabe. “I would describe it more as an outbuilding.”

“How can you joke about this, Gabriel?” Cas snapped.

“Cas! No angel names! Not even in the goddam car! You should know why, now!”

“What about this is funny?” Cas pressed.

“You haven't seen what I've seen, Cas,” said Gabe. “You joke, or you go insane. Look, it gets much worse than one idiot amateur taxidermist. There's rumors that whole neighborhoods where our people used to live have been cleared out. 

“There’s whole neighborhoods of angels?” asked Dean with some wonder. “I’d really like to see that,” he added, casting a glance back at Cas.

“Good luck with that. They’re gone. People taken away, disappeared.”

“Disappeared? Nothing just disappears,” said Dean. “Where did they go?”

Gabe looked uncharacteristically serious. “I've heard rumors of some camps. Angels go in, but they never come back out. But I dunno. Oh, hey, there it is up ahead!” he said, pointing. “Harvelle's! Pull up here.”

 

Sam, like everyone else, was gaping at the train for Tucson and the strange, silent passengers when he sensed something. He looked to his left, down the platform, past where Balthazar was sitting, pretending to be reading.

Luciferite soldiers. They were coming through, checking papers.

Sam glanced back at Balthazar, who hadn't moved. He cast his eyes on the weird, silent passengers on the train headed for Tucson.

He heard the whistle, and a chugging from the tracks. The train to Santa Fe had just arrived.

He held his breath. Were Frank's fake IDs as good as he claimed? The soldiers seemed to be spending a lot of time with one of the guys. He glanced around. Only four soldiers total, and there didn't seem to be any more around. Maybe they were short on manpower, after what had happened at the prison. He had utterly no idea how extensive the damage had been there.

He noticed Balthazar had stood up and strolled over to the Santa Fe train, probably thinking to get on before the ID check guys made it around to him. The porters were still shuffling around inside the train, and they still hadn't opened the doors.

There was a small commotion back by the guys checking IDs. Now one of the soldiers had a gun on the guy, and they started leading him across the tracks. Not to the Santa Fe train. Far across the tracks. To the silent train. The one heading for Tucson.

Sam glanced back at Balthazar, who waited nervously by the train. He thought of Rufus' words, that Tucson was a death camp for angels.

The soldiers swept onwards, asking for ID.

Sam closed his eyes and made a decision.

And then he jumped off the platform, and took off running.

He heard the yells behind him. “Hey! Where he going! Get him!” _Stupid stupid stupid_ , he thought. He heard the running footsteps. He had a start, enough to keep him ahead, but not enough to let them think he's slipped their grasp.

Because, realistically, there was no fucking way he could get away. 

He was almost past the station now, meaning he would have little cover. He heard the cries behind him. The train to Santa Fe beside him was just starting. He jumped between cars, hopping over the coupling, to run on the other side, thinking, “Tell me you got in, Balthy.” 

He heard the shouting behind him. He hopped over another coupling, and now was on the other side of the station, reversing course. He knew he was only delaying things: there wasn't any goddam cover out here in the fucking desert. Why hadn't he materialized back in Kansas. Fucking angel spells. Fucking demons! Fuck all of them! 

Casting a glance behind him, he hopped up on the opposite platform. Good, it was clear. He broke for the exit, right by the stairs, but then there was suddenly a guy in front of him.

A soldier. With a gun.

Sam screeched to a halt, holding up his hands, breathing hard.

The demon poked the gun at Sam's ribs.

“I give up! I give up!” protested Sam.

But then both of them jerked to the sudden sound of barking. Two of the biggest dogs Sam had ever seen were now snapping at them. Even the demon soldier seemed intimidated, and he was holding an automatic weapon.

“Grim! Barghest!” came a voice. The dogs reared back, and a well-dressed man walked up. “Well, trying to step out on me again, eh, Moose?” the man asked Sam.

Sam shook his head in confusion. He had never seen this man before.

“Thank you for locating my AWOL personnel!” the man told the equally confused soldier.

“Crowley!” barked another soldier, an officer of some kind, who had just arrived on the platform. “What the devil are you up to?”

“The devil? Little me? Aw, you make me blush!” Crowley told him. He turned to Sam and slapped him, hard. “Think you can pull that on me again, eh, Twinkletoes? Let's get you back to work,” he added, grabbing Sam by the arm.

“This is one of yours, Crowley?” asked the officer.

“Reluctant as I am to admit that I employ the obviously mentally challenged, yes, this is one of mine. Right boys?” he asked the dogs, who now nuzzled Sam and looked up at Crowley, drooling and smiling big friendly dog smiles.

“You heard about the prison break?” said the officer.

“Yes, and you chaps really ought be more careful. OK, here we go,” said Crowley, now dragging Sam out the exit. “Back to the salt mines! Well, so to speak.”

And then they were out the door, and out of the station.


	5. Sacrament

**Title:** Sacrament (Perseides, Chapter 5 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.   
**Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000 total  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.  
 **Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

They walked rapidly out of the train station, two dogs sauntering at their heels. 

“Thanks, Mister...?” whispered Sam.

“Crowley is the name. No mister attached,” sighed Crowley.

“Crowley,” repeated Sam. “Anyway, I didn't really relish going back to POW camp,” said Sam.

Crowley sighed. “My boy. You have no idea. They were not sending you back to POW camp. Else I wouldn't have bothered.”

“Where were they gonna send me?” asked Sam, a shiver going down his spine.

“Unfortunately, some bloody idiots who thought they could work an angel spell destroyed the friendly local POW camp. You would have been sent to Tucson. That train goes to what Uriel ever so properly refers to as an extermination camp.”

“Then the stories are true?” asked Sam.

“I do not know the stories to which you refer, so I can’t say, mate. So much the worse for the feathery types, if you get my drift. They go in, but they don’t come out again. Not sure what they’d do to humans, but I wouldn’t wanna risk it if I were you.”

“So. What are you?”

“Me, my boy?”

“Red-eye, or black?”

They had come to a stop around a corner behind the station. “Ah! So you’re not as idiotic as you look. That will serve you in good stead. Hold still now, and if you feel the need to vomit, kindly point it away from me. I just had this suit dry cleaned.”

Crowley put a hand on his shoulder, and then, man, demon and dog, they were no longer on the corner.

 

“Ellen! Ellen Ellen Ellen! How pleasant to see you!” gushed Gabe. 

Dean looked around the Harvelle's roadhouse. Unlike what he could only think of as the creepy angel wings diner, this place seemed more on the level. The crowd was fairly sparse, maybe because it was the middle of the afternoon. When he, Gabe and Cas entered, the few patrons all turned around and stared, quite openly sizing them up, and then all went back to drinking 

“You come to settle your bar tab, Gabe?” snapped Ellen, an attractive woman who looked somewhere south of 40 years. 

“What’s a few drinks between friends?” pleaded Gabe.

“You see the sign above the door? It says bar. Not drinks on the house for freeloaders.”

“Such a snappy businesswoman. And little Jo!” he said, turning to the cute blonde girl who was waiting tables. “How very charming! You were knee-high to a grasshopper when last I saw you.”

“Two weeks ago?” laughed Jo. She wrapped Gabe in a hug. “And who’s this?” she asked, eyeing Dean and Cas.

“This is my idiot little brother, Cas,” said Gabe, grabbing a squirming Cas in a headlock. “And this is his friend, Dean.”

“Oh, where's he been hiding you, Cas? They grow them good looking in your family,” winked Jo, which made Cas, who had just struggled out of Gabe’s grasp, blush quite red. Dean grinned. 

“You got news for me, Ellen?” asked Gabe.

“Nothing much. It's been quiet as a graveyard around here,” said Ellen. She slid a paper over to Gabe. Dean thought it must be a bar tab, until he glanced at it. It wasn't written in English. It looked like the weird Enochian writing from Bobby’s book.

“Aw, no news is good news,” grinned Gabe. He threw a significant look at Cas, and then the two of them wandered over to where a couple of guys were hunched over the bar. “Hey, anybody thirsty?” asked Gabe, draping an arm around the one guy's shoulder. “Drinks are on me.”

“Save it, buddy,” grumbled the guy. 

And his good feeling about this place? Dean took it back. He was getting the heebie jeebies now. He made to walk closer, but felt Jo's hand on his arm.

“That's not very friendly, is it Cas?” asked Gabe.

“Get lost,” grumbled the guy.

“No, you get lost,” grinned Gabe. And then suddenly his hand was on the one guy's forehead, while Cas grabbed the other guy. Their eyes and mouths started to glow that with that weird light Dean remembered. And then, to his astonishment, while Cas and Gabe continued to hold them, both of them reared back, threw their mouths open, and began to belch an ugly, foul-smelling black smoke. The smoke billowed up, and then sunk back down to create a hazy pool at their feet. After a few seconds more, the black turned red. It shimmered, like ashes from a fireplace, and then dissipated. 

The two guys collapsed, spasming a little, and then going still. 

Still behind the bar, Ellen nodded, and a couple of other patrons hopped down from the bar and started to drag the guys out the back door.

“I thought you said no smiting!” Cas told Gabe.

“This was the exception that proves the rule,” Gabe told him.

“Thanks, boys,” said Ellen. “Those jokers had been hanging here all week.” 

“Those were demons?” Dean asked Jo, who was still holding his arm.

“You new in town, buddy?” she grinned at Dean.

“They were possessed,” Cas told Dean, but Dean noticed he was staring at Jo while he spoke. “We expunged the demons.”

“Expunged, huh?” smiled Jo. “Gabe, you sure this one is related to you?”

“We are siblings,” explained Cas, which only caused Jo's grin to widen.

“He was dropped on his head as a fledgling,” said Gabe, ruffing Cas’ hair. “Probably by me.” Cas turned to Gabe, a glint of smiting in his eyes.

“Break it up kids,” grumbled Ellen. 

“I'm here 'cause we need a favor,” said Gabe, now sidling up to the bar. “From a lovely woman.”

“Oh, can it, Gabe! What do you want?” Ellen asked, rubbing the bar with a towel.

“And after we smote your pests?” asked Gabe. He hooked a thumb at Dean. “This one is looking for a little lost brother.”

“Not so little, actually,” said Dean.

“How did he get himself lost?” asked Ellen.

“POW,” said Dean.

“There's a POW camp in this county,” said Jo. 

“We think that's the one,” said Gabe. “But you know those location spells run up your long distance bill. I was wondering if I could try a small one some place safe.” Gabe looked around shrewdly. “Like, maybe, here?”

“Oh, hell no! You wanna stink up the place again, Gabe?” asked Ellen, rolling her eyes. 

“It's not that bad,” said Gabe.

“Even the skunks ran away,” protested Jo, who was already holding her nose.

“C'mon Ellen,” urged Gabe.

“It took me a week to get the smell out of the upholstery last time, Gabe,” Ellen told him.

“Look, Ellen,” said Dean. “I just wanna find my brother. I came all this way to get him, and I'm not leaving without him.”

“He is speaking the truth,” said Cas. “He has already hijacked a police car and robbed a vampire tanning salon in pursuit of his brother.”

“He's … what?” laughed Jo. “You've been hanging around with Gabe too much.”

“That's why I need to find my brother and go home. Please?” Dean pleaded.

“A charmer, huh?” sighed Ellen. “All right, all right. I've got a storeroom in back. That's where they dragged those guys to sleep out the possession. Maybe this will wake them up sooner.” She inclined her head, and then Gabe was after her.

“Great, I have a good spell that won't cause much blowback,” Gabe told her.

“Whaddya mean, blowback?” Ellen asked as they exited through the back door.

“We will have Sam's location soon, Dean,” Cas told him. 

“What did your brother mean by blowback?” Dean asked him. The both looked over to an old jukebox, which had just started up. Jo came over and pulled on Cas' arm. “Come on, dance with me,” she urged him.

“Uh,” said Cas, once again looking very flustered. “I'm afraid.... I don't dance.”

“It's easy! Come on, I've never danced with an angel,” she smiled.

“Maybe you could dance … with Dean?” Cas suggested.

“She wants to dance with you, twinkletoes!” Dean laughed, and then he laughed more as Cas actually looked down at his feet, presumably to see if they were iridescent. Dean gave Cas a shove off the stool, and he ended up in Jo's arms, where he literally gulped.

The back door slammed. “This whole place is gonna reek!” sighed Ellen. Dean turned back to face her.

“Thank you, Ellen,” Dean told her as she pushed a beer his way.

“Aw,” she said, waving a hand. “I owe that little son of a bitch, much as I don't wanna admit it.”

“Your place is sort of … out of the way,” said Dean.

“You're wondering what the hell we're up to,” said Ellen. “You can just come out and say it.”

“OK.”

“Before the war, this was a place for hunters,” Ellen told him.

“Something tells me you're not talking guys out shooting deer,” said Dean, opening the beer.

“Gabe tells me you spent your life in the East?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Dean told her. “Yeah.”

“Even before Lucifer, there were things in this world that most humans don't know about. That doesn't make them less dangerous.”

“Like the demons?”

Ellen nodded. “Vampires. Revenants. Wendigos. Ghosts. Some of us made our lives about keeping people safe. Of course, our kind ended up on Lucifer's most wanted list, along with the angels,” she said, nodding towards Cas. Dean glanced over. Cas' look of sheer terror had faded, and he now had a hand on Jo's hip, and they swayed together to the music. 

Dean frowned, not entirely sure why he was frowning.

“Unfortunately, there's not a lot of us left,” Ellen added. “When and if this war ever ends, I’m not sure what we’re gonna do.”

Dean forced himself to tear his eyes from Cas and Jo and turn back towards Ellen. “How do you guys make it?”

“Gabe has helped us along.”

“I thought the guy didn't wanna get involved?” asked Dean.

“He acts like a circus clown, but he's different. Angels aren't like you and me. Hard to know what's going on inside from what they're doing. But you start to get a sense.”

“They're … different,” said Dean.

“So what's your story, Dean?” asked Ellen. “Am I right, or are you ex-service? Or a cop?”

Dean chuckled into his beer. “Is it obvious? Cop. Ex.”

“It's the way you carry yourself. Was Cas lying about you stealing a police car?” she asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

Dean flicked his eyes around to Cas and Jo, who were thick in conversation, and then told her, “No, that's about what happened, how I landed with Cas and Bobby. Sort of screwed that one up.”

“There's always a use for guys like you, let me tell you,” said Ellen. 

“Ah, after this is over, I may have to go work for Cas' stepdad at the scrapyard,” sighed Dean.

At the sound of a girlish laugh, Dean once again turned to look at Cas and Jo. He expected Cas had stomped on her foot or done any of a number of strange things, but instead Cas was actually leaning and whispering something in her ear. A private joke. 

“I... Uh.” Dean put down his beer.

“Everything OK?” smiled Ellen.

“I think I need some air,” said Dean, who headed outside.

“Dean?” asked Cas as Dean passed by the dancing couple. Dean ignored him and stalked through the front door. He turned and walked around the side of the building, and then paced for a little bit for good measure, not quite sure what was wrong. There wasn't anything wrong. Then why was he acting like an idiot?

“Dean?”

Dean turned at the sound of Cas' voice. “What, Cas?” he asked distractedly. 

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I'm all right,” said Dean. “You through dancing?”

“Jo was asking about you.”

Dean stopped pacing and looked at Cas. “What did she want to know about me?”

“If we were.... You know,” muttered Cas, who seemed very interested in something on the ground.

“If we were what?” asked Dean.

But then Cas was directly in front of him, standing too close and staring in that weird way of his. Dean stood his ground, glaring at him. And even crowded in a little closer. And then Cas had caught him behind the head and was kissing him. Dean was just too damned startled to do much of anything for a long second or two, but then grabbed the angel by the shoulders, turned him around and pushed him, a little roughly, against the side of the building. 

And then he leaned in and showed Cas what a kiss was really like.

They were both breathing hard when Dean finally drew back, his fingers still entwined in Cas' hair. “Wanted to wipe that stupid grin off your face,” he muttered. He frowned at Cas. “Didn't work I guess.” But then Cas had pulled him back and they continued, pressing their bodies together. I was like … well, it was a little like heaven. Dean ran his hands down the backs of Cas' thighs and lifted, and then Cas had his legs wrapped around Dean.

“Cas?” Dean muttered as he finally, reluctantly, broke the clench. His knees felt wobbly. “OK. OK. We're gonna need room if we keep this up.”

Cas tilted his head. “What about the car?”

It was Dean's turn to grin.

 

Sam lurched over, hands on his knees, but to his relief did not end up actually vomiting. 

Breathing hard, he painfully stood up and looked around.

He was no longer outside the station. He was now inside something that looked like a large, teeming factory. One of Crowley's dogs nosed him, and he put a cautious hand out to scratch its muzzle. It smiled a goofy dog smile.

“I'm surprised he let you keep the hand. Grim and Barghest don't fancy a lot of people,” Crowley crisply informed him.

“Well, uh, thanks for letting me know,” gulped Sam. He had withdrawn his hand, but now the huge head was rubbing against him, and two very red eyes looked up, imploring him. Sam tentatively scratched behind the ears. “Uh, what kind of dogs are Grim and....”

“Barghest. Hellhounds. Raised them from pups!” bragged Crowley.

“Yeah, of course they are,” said Sam. “Hey, you never answered my question. Are you a red-eye, or a black eye?”

“No, I never did, did I? Come along,” said Crowley, who was now striding across the factory floor.

“So, this is … a munitions factory?” asked Sam, looking around.

“Yes, just one in my vast fleet of wartime enterprises,” said Crowley. 

Sam noticed a row of people stuffing what looked like shell casings with salt. He remembered what Rufus had told him about using salt for ammo against demons. “So, your employees? They're human?”

“Right again!” said Crowley. “My work makes it a sad but necessary requirement that I keep a number of humans at my employ. As well as … certain other species.” 

Sam nodded. Another group had caught his eye: they were painting arcane symbols on various weaponry. “You got a bunch of angels in here too,” he said softly.

“Nice job if you can get it,” said Crowley, who had paused before a glass door that said Business Offices. “And if you play your cards right, you can be the newest employee of Crowley enterprises. I've heard you're quite the card sharp.”

He burst through the door, Sam and the dogs behind him.

There were two very familiar faces in Crowley's office: Asmodeus the poker-playing demon was sitting with his feet up on what was presumably Crowley's desk. And Rufus was there as well.

“Sam!” yelled Rufus, who was out of his chair, hugging Sam. “God dammit! When you didn't make it back, we didn't know what happened.”

“Fucking Frank delayed me,” smiled Sam. “He'll be pissed I didn't use his train tickets.”

“We'll tell him when we find him. There's a lot of our guys unaccounted for,” said Rufus. 

“You weren't kidding about a shitstorm,” said Sam. “Last thing I remember the wall was glowing, and then I woke up miles away.”

“You bastards destroyed the camp,” said Asmodeus. “I told you to be careful with those angel spells,” he told Rufus, who shrugged.

“You're lucky you got blown clear,” Rufus told Sam. “We leveled a good deal of the countryside too.”

“And I am out of my supply of fresh heirloom tomatoes,” grumbled Crowley, who thumped down behind his desk.

“If Asmodeus hadn't found me, I may have been stuck on that train to Tucson,” said Rufus.

“So, no offense...” said Sam, casting a glance at Crowley.

“I rarely let myself be offended by humans,” Crowley sighed.

“But, Rufus, we're working with demons now?” Sam asked.

“I don't think he likes us, boss,” laughed Asmodeus.

“My dear boy, you've always been working with demons,” said Crowley. “Do you think you would have been able to marshal your little prison break without my consent? But what is the harm in that? I am simply a businessman, trying to make my way during troubled times.”

“But you have humans here,” said Sam. “And... And angels.”

“I only keep them as long as they are useful. And as long as they annoy the shit out of Lucifer,” said Crowley, narrowing his eyes and pulling out a bottle of Scotch and three glasses.

“Where's my glass?” asked Asmodeus.

“Asmodeus, go out and pretend to be useful. Go walk the dogs!” Crowley said. 

“They're not gonna bite me again are they?” asked Asmodeus, hopping reluctantly to his feet.

“Oh, most likely,” said Crowley, shooing them out. 

“So,” said Sam, sipping at his whiskey. It was good stuff. “You’re the boss of the red-eye soldiers.”

“I prefer to think of my boys as, er, independent contractors. Rather than soldiers. Sounds so much more businesslike, don’t you reckon?” grinned Crowley.

“I don’t understand,” said Sam. 

“I’m a demon,” explained Crowley. “You are entitled to your prejudices. But mark my words, we have endured and sometimes even thrived for a long time down here, alongside your kind. Then, unfortunately, the big man upstairs decided to take a powder, and now the less gifted of his offspring have decided to use the world – my world, dammit – as their personal monster truck rally.”

“Their .. what?” asked Sam, who was laughing despite himself.

“Big, bloated, destructive and worst of all, tacky!” huffed Crowley.

“Your big beef is that Michael and Lucifer have bad taste?” asked Sam.

“Is a tastefully appointed world too much to ask?” said Crowley. “That and a decent whiskey.” He poured them all another round. “As I have said, I have been alive longer than you can imagine, therefore I know that some day this will all be over. And if it is to end with a few of your kind, and a few angels, owing me a favor, than all the better.”

“This is all a deal to you?” asked Sam.

“What do you say, Rufus?” asked Crowley.”

“On the one hand, can’t trust a demon. On the other hand…” Rufus repeated with a laugh.

“Can’t trust a demon,” Sam finished.

Asmodeus stuck his head in the door, and the two dogs barreled in. “Boss, we just got a report of activity! Angelic.”

“What? Unidentified angels in my domain. Well, bears a look see.”

“It could be more people from the escape,” said Rufus, sitting up.

“Whereabouts?” asked Crowley.

“The camp.”

“Our old camp?” asked Sam.

“Not the POW one,” said Asmodeus. “The, uh … other one.”

“Oh. I shall go myself,” said Crowley, who suddenly seemed serious.

“Can we go with you?” asked Sam.

“Frankly, this ain't something you wanna see, Sam,” said Rufus.

“Why not?” asked Sam.

Crowley frowned at Sam. “No, let him come along. I think young Sam deserves to see what our angelic friends have in mind for his world.”

 

Cas' overcoat made a decent blanket.

“Damn,” said Dean, because he really couldn't think of anything else to say. Cas was lying like a contented cat on his chest in the Impala’s capacious back seat. “So this was the first time you tried this, you know, in a car?”

Cas raised himself on one elbow. He looked at Dean, and then looked away, seeming a little guilty. “If you mean relations, this would constitute.... This would be.... Not that I have not had opportunities....”

Dean gently grabbed Cas's face and brought him around to look at Dean. “This is your _first_ first time?” he asked. 

He didn't get an answer, just a sheepish nod. And then Cas was back, nuzzling his chest.

“Oh,” said Dean. He was silent for a while. _Great_ , he thought, _I've just corrupted an angel._ Albeit, one who seemed awfully eager to be corrupted. “Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“When we get back, is Bobby gonna kill me?”

“Naw.”

“OK, that’s good,” said Dean, relaxing a little.

“Because Gabe is gonna kill you now.”

“WHAT?”

Dean glared down. He felt Cas spasm. Cas looked up. The grin was back. “Maybe he'll just smite you a little,” Cas told him.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know, Cas, you and Gabe....”

“He can act like a big jerk. I know,” Cas said, shifting position slightly. His skin felt amazing. Dean caught him for another kiss. Cas frowned, and then continued. “Because Gabe is a big jerk. I tend to forget this during the interludes when we do not interact....”

“No! It.... Seeing you guys pal around, it makes me miss the hell out of Sammy.”

Cas blinked up at him. “Really?”

“You guys just remind me of us. I mean.... Well, you'll see.”

“Then perhaps we should cut short this post-coital interlude and see if my brother's location spell worked.”

Dean burst out laughing. “Let me find my pants,” he said, and they both rummaged around the floor for discarded articles of clothing. The majority of the time was spent on Dean un-knotting Cas' tie and tying it up properly: Bobby was right, he really did have no idea how to fasten it. 

They both hurried back into the roadhouse. “Where the hell have you two been?” laughed Jo from the bar. “I'm still owed a dance.”

“Uh,” said Dean.

“Dean was demonstrating the advantages of sexual intimacy conducted in the back seat of a vehicle,” said Cas.

“What?” said Gabe, who had just come into the room.

“Uh,” said Dean.

Ellen threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Cas! Can I adopt you?”

“I have an adoptive father, thanks Ellen,” said Cas. He turned his attention to Gabriel. “Brother! What has happened?” he asked Gabe. Dean noticed for the first time that the ends of Gabe's hair were smoking. 

“You're fooling around with my baby brother?” Gabe demanded of Dean. His face, too, looked like it had been smeared with ash, and he smelled like smoke.

“It wasn't fooling, Gabe,” said Cas. “Laughter was kept to a minimum.”

“You won't smite me, will you?” asked Dean.

“Gabe looks like someone's already smitten him,” said Ellen.

“What happened?” Cas repeated.

“A little blowback on my location spell,” said Gabe, who violently shook his head. Suddenly, the smoking hair and ash vanished. 

“Did you find Sam?” asked Cas. Dean hovered near.

“The POW camp is gone. Vanished. And Sam....” Gabe looked over at Dean. “Sam isn't anywhere.”

Dean felt his heart sink. “Did something happen to Sam?” he asked.

“No, nothing bad. Don't freak, Deano. But nothing … good. I got no information. He there but he's off the grid. It's strange. I've never seen anything like this before. He’s gotta be some place with some really powerful warding spells.”

“What do we do?” asked Dean.

“Which way is that camp?” Cas asked Ellen. He threw off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.

“Cas, no wings!” said Gabe, grabbing him. “You can't just go buzzing over there! We don't know what's happening.”

“That is what I am going to find out,” said Cas.

“I am not having you get yourself killed,” said Gabe.

“I am not going to stand here while Dean’s brother might be in peril!”

“Wait,” said Dean, hoping to avoid another angelic feud. “How long is the drive?”

“It’s a couple hours,” Ellen told him.

“I know the way,” said Jo. “Let me go with you.”

“I don’t think I like that idea, young lady,” said Ellen.

“I can handle myself!” Jo protested. “And I’ve got angels!” Ellen looked dubious, but nodded.

“Let’s go,” said Dean, who was already on his way out the door, Cas at his side. Jo scrambled after them. 

“Wait you guys! I need to grab some ice cream before I go!” wailed Gabe.

“Bring them back, Gabe,” Ellen told him, tossing him a sack of M&Ms. Gabe nodded, but then hurried after the rest.

 

“This is … sort of nice,” said Sam, who immediately realized it was a stupid comment. Wherever the hell Crowley had yanked him and Rufus, it was nestled next to a mountainside, and there was actually a cover of real forest. Sam hadn’t realized how much he’d missed trees, spending so long in the middle of a freaking desert wasteland.

“It’s hidden back here for a reason, kid,” said Rufus, who had conjured a real cigarette for the occasion. 

“Yes, and it ain’t because the trees provide a pleasant atmosphere,” said Crowley. Grim and Barghest came romping up to him. “All clear?” Crowley asked the dogs. 

“No,” said Sam. “Look! There's somebody here!” He held a hand over his eyes and squinted. Four people, it looked like.

“Fuck. Some hellhounds you turned out to be. Sic 'em!” Crowley ordered his dogs. Very suddenly, they changed from friendly mutts to the vicious barking beasts Sam had first encountered. They scampered across the clearing and disappeared into the trees. 

“Wait!” said Sam. “Crowley! We don't know who they are.”

“They're no good, if they're around here,” said Crowley. “Oh, wait!” He sighed, watching Sam run off after the dogs. “He doesn't heel, does he?” he complained to Rufus. “I despise running!” he shouted, before taking off. Rufus flicked away his cigarette and took off after Crowley.

 

Dean heard the barking. “Get back,” Gabe said softly. Cas was instantly in front of Dean and Jo.

The POW camp had been a waste of time. It had been completely demolished. They had all sadly assembled back in the car when Gabe suddenly claimed he felt something, like the presence of other angels nearby. As they had approached this area, Dean noticed both Cas and Gabe seemed to get more and more agitated. Gabe refused to let Cas fly over the area, so they had all gotten out to have a look around. 

Two of the biggest dogs Dean had ever seen came bursting out of the scrub. 

“I hate dogs,” grumbled Gabe, jabbing two fingers onto the forehead of the first. It collapsed with a whimper. “Stand still!” he ordered the other one, which was now growling and snapping around him. He jabbed with his fingers, but failed to make contact.

“Want me to do it?” asked Cas.

“It's not easy!” Gabe protested. “This thing is fast.”

“Gabe, we don’t have all day,” sighed Cas, walking forward.

“Hey! Whose dogs are these?” Dean asked Jo.

“That’s a good question,” she told him, and they both looked around. 

“Hey, look!” said Dean, spotting a well-dressed man emerging from the woods. 

“Gabe! It’s a demon!” shouted Jo.

“What the hell did you feather-brains do to my dogs?” the demon demanded of Cas and Gabe. He had a slight English accent.

All of a sudden, Cas and Gabe were next to him, Cas yanking him up by the collar. Jo ran over across the clearing to them, and Dean was about to follow.

“Dean?”

Dean whirled around at the familiar voice, scarcely believing what he had just heard.

“Sammy,” whispered a disbelieving Dean.

“What the hell, Dean?” asked Sam, who had just emerged from the forest overgrowth.

Dean pounced on his brother. “Sammy! Oh, god, Sammy!” He wanted to hug him and never stop. But Sam finally pushed him away

“Dean, I-“

“You fucking idiot!” howled Dean. He swung at Sam, a blow Sam easily dodged. “Dumb fucking son of a bitch!” He swung again, but this time his fist was caught by a tall dark-skinned guy.

“What the hell?” asked Rufus.

“I’ll kill you!” said Dean. He lunged forward at Sam, but Rufus caught him and restrained him.

“It’s OK. Rufus, it’ s OK. This is my brother!” laughed Sam.

“This? Is your brother?” asked Rufus.

“Let me go! Let me go so I can murder him!” yelled Dean.

“Can we maybe leave off with the murdering?” asked Rufus. Dean nodded, and Rufus let him go.

“Dean is correct. They are quite similar to us,” said Cas, who was now standing nearby, still holding Crowley by the collar, watching along with Gabe and Jo.

“Except when I try to punch you, you usually forget to duck,” laughed Gabe.

“Whoa, they grow their Winchesters big!” grinned an obviously impressed Jo.

“Sam! Will you kindly tell our feathered friends to release me?” pleaded Crowley.

“Oh, yeah, let him go!” said Sam. “Let him go! He's with me. With us!”

“Your brother is consorting with demons, Dean?' asked Cas suspiciously.

“Look, Crowley is OK you guys! He saved my ass!” said Sam. Cas and Gabe exchanged a dubious glance and then looked at Crowley.

Cas released Crowley. “Angels are watching over you, dickweed,” Gabe told him.

“I will make a mental note of it,” sighed Crowley. 

“OK, OK, let me explain, everybody,” said Sam. “This is Rufus,” he said, indicating Rufus. “He's my friend, and he just escaped with me. And he's human. And this guy is Crowley the demon, and he helped me escape for reasons I still don't fucking understand. And these are his dogs, who are … hellhounds,” he said, pointing to the still unconscious mutts. “And this is my brother Dean, who is an asshole sometimes, and is also human.” Upon which, Sam draped an arm around Dean.

Dean frowned. He gestured. “Cas and Gabe. And Jo.”

“Angels,” Gabe told Crowley.

“I’m not,” said Jo.

“Yes, I had peeked ahead to that part of the book, Miss,” sighed Crowley.

“And now please tell me what the fuck you're doing here, Dean,” said Sam.

“I, uh, came to rescue you,” admitted Dean.

“Cool! You are the greatest big brother,” laughed Sam.

“See?” Gabe told Cas. “That's how you should act towards me! Show some respect!”

“Does this mean you will begin acting respectable?” Cas asked.

“If we are quite finished with touching family togetherness,” said Crowley. “I came here for two reasons. I've obviously located the angels.”

“We can skip seeing the camp, Crowley,” said Rufus. “These kids don't need to see it.”

“See what?” asked Dean.

“Our good friend Lucifer had two camps in this vicinity,” Crowley explained. “There was the POW camp where Sam and Rufus were so recently guests. Thanks to their shenanigans, there is very little of that left to see. And then there was this one. This was for a very special group of people.” And here Crowley shot a look at Gabe and Cas. “It has been abandoned. But the structure, and, uh, the content, remain.”

“Where did everybody go?” asked Dean.

“Those that remained have been decamped to the newer, larger camp in Tucson,” said Crowley.

“What's in there, Crowley,” asked Sam.

“This is why I suggested you come. I would recommend you see for yourself,” the demon told him.

“Why?” asked Dean.

“I have my reasons,” said Crowley. “Can you kindly un-zap my dogs, first?”

“I will do it,” said Cas.

“Aw, it’s a sinch now, they’re not moving!” protested Gabe. He shrugged and went along in the direction that Rufus and Jo were no moving. 

“Dean,” said Sam, as the two of them followed Gabe. “What the fuck. I mean, seriously, what the fuck?”

“Like I said, this is a rescue mission,” shrugged Dean.

“You got leave from the force or something?”

“Well, uh, not quite,” Dean admitted. “And I kind of stole a police cruiser in the deal.”

“Holy shit, Dean.”

“I was going crazy when I heard you were shot down!”

“I wasn’t technically shot down….”

“What?” asked Dean.

“Well, my wingman was shot down, and I landed to try and help him.”

“Sam! You dumb son of a bitch!” yelled Dean.

“No more punching! OK? Enough for the day,” laughed Sam.

“So how was prison?”

“It was actually OK,” said Sam. “Until we got the brilliant idea to escape.” They walked a few paces. “Um, the girl?”

“Jo?” asked Dean.

“She’s cute?” said Sam. 

Dean looked over at his brother’s questioning look. “I just met her, actually. Yeah, she’s cute, but, uh….”

“What?”

“I think … there’s somebody else.”

“Wait. You think?” asked Sam. He and Dean stopped. They had just come to the gates of another camp. Rufus, Gabe and Jo had paused outside.

“Can I say I have a bad feeling about this?” asked Gabe.

 

Cas was surrounded by grateful and fully awake hellhounds. “I apologize for the misunderstanding,” he told them.

“I am certain you are forgiven,” said Crowley, who had also hung back.

“No, I am,” said Cas.

“You know what my dogs are thinking?”

“They are not terribly difficult to read. Unlike humans.”

“Or demons?”

Cas shrugged and started to walk towards the camp. But Crowley moved to stand in front of him. Cas glared.

“Castiel, is it?” asked Crowley. Cas nodded. “Your human body – it doesn’t look very old.”

“I will be the human equivalent of twenty-one years old this fall,” said Cas, puffing himself up a little.

“That’s what I thought. So, you don’t really remember it?” Crowley asked, pointing upwards.

Cas shook his head, his glare turning to a look more of puzzlement. He started to walk forward again, and Crowley blocked him.

“There’s no way in hell you’ll listen to me,” said Crowley, “because to you I’m just some grubby demon berk. But damn me, I’m gonna say it. You don’t need to go in there.”

“Why would I not want to enter?” asked Cas.

“Because angels can be bloody awful bastards, especially to their own kind. But Lucifer….” Crowley stared at Cas. “I’m a demon, meaning I don’t give a shit for your ethics. But there’s things I do, and things I don’t. And what’s in there … that’s things I don’t participate in.”

Castiel stared at Crowley, searching his eyes. “All right,” he finally said. “Your objection has been noted.” And then he stalked off towards the camp.

“Well, I warned the little shit,” Crowley muttered to the dogs.

 

One room contained just discarded clothing. It was very neatly organized, the coats here, hats there, shoes another place. The shoes were nicely divided into bins of men’s shoes, women’s shoes, children’s shoes.

Dean was holding a child’s shoe. He didn’t know why, but it transfixed him. It was a shoe for a little boy, and it had Batman symbols around it.

“Sammy, you remember that summer you thought you were Batman?” Dean asked Sam, turning the tiny shoe over in his hands.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Yeah.”

“You found a bunch of my old comics. I don’t know how the hell we hung onto them, all the moving around we did.”

Dean looked up and saw Sam nodding. 

This wasn’t the first room they had gone through. There was one that contained only pieces of luggage, all sorted by size. Dean had noticed one piece there had a little knitted tassel on the handle, something to recognize it by when it rolled off the baggage claim, he supposed.

There was also a room with things like eyeglasses, crutches, watches, and jewelry.

And one with hair. Red and brown and blond. There was some strawberry blond hair, Dean noticed, that was still braided in pigtails.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean very carefully placed the small Batman shoe back in the bin, and they proceeded to the next room. Even before he entered, Dean realized there was something different about this room. He got a funny feeling, like you’d walked around on a rug and built up a lot of static electricity. He paused, and then entered.

It was amazing, for humans who had never seen angel wings before – Dean had only briefly glimpsed that pair in the dark outbuilding by that diner – the size and variety. Dean had always considered them, on the few occasions he thought about angels, to be white and sort of fluffy. But they came in as many colors as human hair colors, and yet more: there were some bright and gorgeous as peacocks, and some as psychedelic crazy as parrots. Interesting specimens like these had been carefully mounted on the walls. Others were neatly stacked on shelves: huge shelves, going up to the ceiling.

Dean tried to count, and then lost count. 

And the power! It just seemed the room was filled with … magic, or enchantment, or something Dean didn’t even know what it was.

He went and hunkered down next to Cas, who was on his hands and knees in the middle of the room, hovering over the pool of vomit on the floor. 

Jo handed Dean some Kleenex from a pocket. Dean reached over and carefully eased Cas back so he was sitting down on his heels, and then used the Kleenex to wipe his mouth. The angel’s eyes were red-rimmed. Sam sat down on the floor opposite Dean, on Cas’ other side.

“Who did this?” asked Jo. “Who could have done this?”

“Lucifer,” said Rufus. “This is his endgame.”

“This is insane!” said Jo.

“Has Lucifer just gone mad?” Sam asked.

“I hadn’t heard his sanity vouched for to begin with,” said Crowley. 

“Yeah? Well, he’s clearly gone a few chicken nuggets short of a Happy Meal,” growled Dean.

“Gabriel,” said Cas. It came out as a raspy croak.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here, kid. I’m sorry,” said Gabe.

“Gabriel. We must do something,” said Cas.

“We can’t, Castiel! Don’t you understand?” said Gabe.

“Why can’t you?” asked Sam.

“What we are, Cas and I – we’re not angels any more! Not like they are, Michael and Lucifer.”

“I think Bobby mentioned something about it,” said Dean. “Nephilim?”

Gabe sighed. “To remake ourselves as humans, we had to give up some of our power. I thought it was best, for Cas and me. We weren’t going back to heaven. None of us were.”

“But Lucifer didn’t do the same?” asked Sam.

“No, no! Don’t you see? Lucifer and Michael, and the guys like that, they hung on to every scrap of power. Nothing matters to them any more but beating up on the other guy. And….” Gabe waved his hands around the room. “Every other being who gets in the way.”

“He will exterminate us! Our people!” Cas pleaded.

“He’s not gonna touch you. Not if I have anything to say about it. Come on,” said Gabe, yanking Cas to his feet. “We got Sam. Now we’re getting you out of here. And back with Bobby. Over the wall. Where you belong.”

“Gabriel. We have to do something!” said Cas. “We are obligated.”

“There’s nothing we could do?” asked Sam. “Gabe, I dunno what kind of powers you do or don’t have, but the other day at the train station, there was a cattle car full of people bound for … a camp like this. A bigger camp! And who knows how many are already there.”

“Sam, this isn’t our fight!” said Dean. “I’m sorry about all this, but you’ve already done enough.”

“See?” said Gabe, as if that were the end of it. “Dean agrees. We’re outta here.”

“So, you’re gonna take your brother back East?” Rufus asked, narrowing his eyes.

“He dwells in the Unincorporated Territories,” said Gabe.

“And what about when Lucy pokes his head over the wall?” asked Rufus. “You think he’s stopping here? You already said the guy’s nuts.”

“He won’t get far,” grumbled Gabriel.

“Ah! That’s precisely what Michael thought,” smiled Crowley. Gabe glared at him and stormed out, dragging Cas along with him. The rest followed, until only Dean and Crowley remained.

“Crowley,” whispered Dean. “These people – these angels….”

“They were almost certainly alive when this was done,” said Crowley, reaching out to softly touch a nearby wing. “It is thought that … harvesting them that way preserves most of the magic.”

“They’re magical? What, are they like big, sick rabbits’ feet or something?”

“Yes, they are thought to be talismans. If you could see magical power, which you can’t, being human, then you’d see this room positively reeks of it.”

“Why would Lucifer go to all this trouble and then just walk away?” asked Dean.

“Maybe he was in a hurry,” said Crowley. “But he is an angel, and there’s no predicting them.”

 

“So. You and the angel.”

“Yeah. Me. And an angel,” said Dean. He tipped up his beer into the glass, wondering for a while why no beer was coming out. He looked into the bottle. Ah! Empty!

“What?” asked Sam, leaning back and surveying a table filled with beer bottles. 

“Sammy. I didn’t even believe in angels a couple weeks ago.”

“Does he believe in you?” laughed Sam.

“It’s just … strange. It’s been a strange couple of weeks.”

Sam’s features etched a wry smile. “Well, I guess I kind of dated a demon.”

“What?”

“Almost.”

“What the hell, Sammy? While you were in prison?”

“What? I was on release, and there was this pretty girl!”

“Would I have hit on her?” asked Dean.

“Totally.”

Dean squinted drunkenly at Sam. “Yeah, but see, that’s me, not you. I’m an idiot.”

“True. So, you’ve fixed it so you can’t go back East.”

Dean put his head in his hands. “Yeah, and if I go back to No Man’s Land, I get likely tossed back here by an angry, pitchfork-wielding mob of demons.”

“Pitchfork-wielding demons are always the best kind!” laughed Sam.

“Seriously, we need to get away from this Sammy. And now. Lucifer is a madman. You don’t do stuff like that, especially to your own kind.”

“Aren’t you two asleep yet?” asked Ellen, who had just come into the bar.

“Just need another beer, barkeep,” said Dean, holding up an empty bottle.

“Rufus once told me it’s somebody named Uriel running the camps,” Sam told Dean.

“Rufus? Not Rufus Turner!” said Ellen.

“Yeah. You know him?” asked Sam.

“He was one of our best hunters. I didn’t even know he joined up. He didn’t come back with you guys?”

“No, he decided to go back with Crowley,” said Sam, who seemed puzzled.

“Back to make salt bullets?” slurred Dean.

“Dean, the humans and angels he’s got there – he's keeping them out of one of Lucifer's camps,” said Sam.

“Well, great, then Crowley gets Demon of the Week award. Hurrah,” said Dean, waving an empty beer bottle.

 

Cas was lying on the hood of the Impala, looking up at the stars.

“Are you coming in or not? It’s getting cold.”

He scowled at his brother, and then looked back at the stars without replying.

“OK, you're still pissed,” said Gabe, hopping up to sit beside him. He gazed upwards. “You still like looking at the stars.”

“Yes, Gabe,” sighed Cas. “I still like looking at the stars.”

“And you like the cop?”

Cas actually broke into a brief smile, before he caught himself. Thinking about Dean.... It had been a horrible day. And he shouldn't be happy. “Yes, I like the cop,” he repeated. And the smile flickered again. He waited for Gabe to give him shit about it. That's what Gabe was good at.

Instead, Gabe said, “OK.” and was silent for a moment. “Cas. I want you to just … be happy. And live your life. That wasn't possible up there. Now, maybe I fucked up, bringing you down here, I dunno. But there wasn't anything left up there....”

“There may not be anything left down here,” snapped Cas, who immediately regretted it. 

“You don't understand! I left behind everything! Everyone! Those people up there, our brothers and sisters, they were important to me. But I left them. So you could be OK. And I need to know you're OK. Or none of it was fucking worth it.”

Cas looked over, studying his brother in the moonlight. There was so little he knew about angels.

“Look, Cas,” said Gabe. “There's some stuff I didn't tell you about up there. Maybe I should have before now, I dunno.”

“What?” asked Cas, going up on one elbow. “What haven't you told me?”

“You still tryin' catch a falling star, Cas?” asked Dean. He slumped against the fender, next to Cas, smiling drunkenly at him. “We got cut off by a hostile barkeep!”

“Are you inebriated?” asked Cas.

“Thoroughly,” grinned Dean as Sam walked out behind him.

“Congratulations. I have heard that is very difficult to achieve when one is staying at a bar,” said Cas.

“Oh, get a room,” laughed Sam.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Dean, reaching over and pulling Cas down off the hood.

“You can barely stand upright,” said Cas, pulling a shaky Dean’s arm over his shoulders.

“Hey, what’s that?” asked Sam. “Is it bats?”

Gabe was up off the fender. “Holy crap,” he said.

“What is it?” said Dean.

“I’ve never seen so many,” said Gabe.

“So many what?”

“Angels, Dean,” said Cas. 

The sky was filled with angels.


	6. Martyrdom

**Title:** Martyrdom (Perseides, Chapter 6 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.  
 **Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000 total  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.  
 **Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

_Many years ago...._

Gabriel was not at the court function tonight.

No one would notice. Gabriel rarely attended court functions any more. What was the point? Getting together for meaningless rituals while outside the world burned?

He tread carefully, though. No sense in getting spotted. He sneaked through the palace, gold and silver shining everywhere. What was up with angels and all the precious metals? So tacky. Finally, to his relief, he approached the simple wooden door marked Nursery. With a final scan of the room to make sure the coast was clear, he entered.

Castiel was there, as he always was, playing silently by himself. There were no other fledglings around these days, so he was often by himself. Even for an angel, though, he was a preternaturally silent child. 

Castiel looked up at Gabriel's approach, the three faces all turning around, radiating innocence. His dark little wings flapped in greeting.

Gabriel hunkered his Presence down to be nearer the young angel. 

“Castiel, you and me, we're gonna go on a journey,” said Gabriel.

“Durney?”

“Yeah. We're gonna go a long way, where you've never gone before, and it'll be really exciting!”

“'Citing?” the child repeated. Three faces tilted, three pairs of eyes attended to Gabriel. His eyes were striking: green and blue and gold, like sea and sky and stars. Gabriel had always thought, left to grow, Castiel might be the most beautiful of them all. But now, he would never know.

“It'll be great,” Gabriel told him, praying the child couldn't pick out a bald faced lie yet. He picked him up. “Come on.”

He folded his three pairs of powerful wings around Castiel, and headed out. It had to be now, tonight. There weren't a whole lot of beings left up here. If he delayed any more, somehow they'd drag Castiel into the mess, make him choose a side, even if he didn't really understand. How could he? 

How could anybody?

Being careful to avoid the many fires that raged over the once glorious land, Gabriel took them to a small clearing in the shadow of the palace, away from anyone who might still be paying attention. Looking around again to make certain they weren't being observed, Gabriel set Castiel down on the ground in front of him and then crouched so they could be at eye level.

“Now, you need to watch me, and do what I do. OK?”

Three solemn faces nodded. 

“Now, concentrate your grace, like this....”

And when it was done, it was done. And they were everywhere, for a time. And then they were nowhere. And then they were both hurtling through space, Gabriel clutching Castiel tightly to his heart, seeking out their new home.

The clearing was silent.

And then a small flicker of movement, as a solitary figure who had been watching turned and strode back to the palace.

 

_The present day...._

Years ago, Dean remembered, when Sammy was just little, they lived in a house – one of the many foster families – where bats had come to infest the attic. You could stand outside at a certain time of the evening, and suddenly the dark sky would come alive with flickering shadows across the stars, and the soft sounds of flight.

It was like that tonight, the moving darkness of winged beings, arriving in such numbers. Dean felt a chill. Angels – so many angels.

“Cas! We gotta go,” said Gabe.

“No,” said Cas, who had already slid off the hood of the Impala and started walking to the clearing where they had begun to alight. “They are our brothers.”

“Little idiot,” grumbled Gabe, who hastened after Cas. Sam and Dean followed, and Dean saw that Ellen had come out as well.

“Hey, wait, I know this guy!” said Sam, who was pointing to one of the angels. “Balthazar!” he hailed. The angel, who had been chatting quietly with some of his fellows, perked up at the sound of Sam's voice. He broke away from the other angels and strode over. He was a tall good-looking guy who just happened to have a really fucking huge pair of hay-colored wings sprouting from his back.

“Sam!” said Balthazar. He immediately grabbed Sam in an embrace, the wings folding around him too. “Oh, God, Sam! You're alive!” he said, now drawing back and holding Sam's face in his hands. “I can't tell you how grateful I am to see you alive!”

“It's all good. I'm fine,” said Sam. “Hey, this is my brother, Dean.”

“It is an honor to meet you!” said Balthazar, eagerly shaking his hand. Dean looked around. Some of the angels still hovered in flight, but a big group of them had landed. They were breathtaking sight, fluffing and fluttering great eight foot spans of wing. Even in the dim light he could see the riot of colors, some had wings as white as a dove, some dark as night, some mottled and speckles and even iridescent. A patch of heaven, rolled out on earth. 

“And here's Ellen and Jo,” Sam was saying, cheerfully ignoring the splendor around him to be a good host. “And Cas. And Gabe! Oh, maybe you guys have met...”

But Balthazar had stopped shaking hands. He paused in front of Gabe and, to Dean's astonishment, went down on one knee in front of him. He took out a sword – he didn't seem to have been carrying it before, it just kind of appeared – and laid it at Gabe's feet.

“Gabriel. My liege,” said Balthazar.

Gabe looked incredibly flustered. “Look, that ain’t necessary, Balthazar. Seriously!” he said.

“You don’t know what it means to me to find you here,” said Balthazar. “To all of us.” He seemed near tears.

“Balthazar!” scolded Gabe. He reached down and pulled the other man to his feet. “This is not necessary. I left that gig. I’m just a regular guy now. Just like you.”

Balthazar was now standing with his hand over his heart. “We thought you were dead.”

“I am dead. I mean, I might as well be. I left all that behind. My family, all that crap. I’m just Gabe, now. And this is my bone-headed kid brother, Castiel,” said Gabe, hooking an elbow over a very confused looking Cas’ shoulders. 

“Castiel!” said Balthazar. “You were only a fledgling when I knew you.” He put a hand to Cas' face, not quit touching, as if he were afraid to believe. 

“OK. Gabe, what is going on?” demanded Dean.

“Yes, what is going on, Gabriel?” asked Castiel quietly. There were now a few other angels who had broken off from the main pack and wandered over to witness.

“This is our lost prince,” said Balthazar. “Our archangel, Gabriel.”

“Wait. Him?” asked Dean. Gabe glared at him. 

“Our royal family: we thought they had all died, save Michael and Lucifer,” Balthazar explained.

“Why are you back, Balthazar?” asked Sam, partly to change the subject.

Balthazar nodded. “There is a train full of our kin heading to a death camp, even as we speak. Lucifer would exterminate my people. I have rallied what brothers and sisters we could.”

“You're gonna stop the train?” asked Dean.

“Yes, and liberate our brethren,” said Balthazar. 

“Come with us, Gabriel,” said one of the angels who had been listening in.

“I don't do the heroics stuff any more,” said Gabriel, waving his hands. “Look, Balthazar, you're better off without me. Lucifer doesn't know about me. If he gets wind that I'm still alive and flapping, the hammer's gonna come down, but good.”

“I'll go,” said Cas.

“What?” asked Gabe.

“What?” echoed Dean.

“Thank you, Castiel,” said Balthazar, bowing low. Several of the other angels made graceful bows as well.

“Anything I can do for you guys, now that you're on my front doorstep?” asked Ellen.

“This is a sanctuary, of a sort?” asked Balthazar.

“Of a sort,” cracked Jo. “It's a bar!”

“Then can I trouble you breathtaking ladies for a drink?” laughed Balthazar.

“On me,” said Ellen heading off with Balthazar and some of the other angels.

“Ever wanted to work as a barmaid?” Jo asked Sam, grabbing his arm.

“Not particularly,” Sam laughed, but he followed Ellen and Balthazar into the bar.

“Kid,” said Gabe, grabbing Cas' wrist and pulling him away. “We gotta talk.”

“About what, Gabe?” grumbled Cas, glaring at his brother. 

Dean crowded around as well, remembering with a sinking feeling another similar conversation he’d had a year or so ago. 

“I have no fucking idea what idealistic notions are buzzing through your idiot brain right now,” said Gabe. “but let me tell you, you are not a soldier!”

“I thought we were all warriors of the Lord,” Cas told him.

“You work salvage!” said Gabe. 

“Do these people look like soldiers to you?” Cas asked. 

Dean looked around to the group of angels gathered in the fields near Harvelle’s. Now that his initial shock had worn off, and he could see past the magnificent wings, he had to agree with Cas. There was a certain look you get, whether law enforcement or professional soldier. And these angels did not look like warriors. In fact, without the wings, Dean wondered if he would have noticed them two weeks ago if he’d bumped into them in the grocery store.

“No, they don’t,” said Gabe soberly. “That’s what I’m worried about. They’re headed into a slaughter.”

“There is a train, loaded with innocents, that is headed for slaughter! Right now, Gabe!” Cas told him.

“Cas-“

“I am needed! You are needed as well!” Cas scolded.

“Castiel! Could we speak with you?” A group of angels had shyly approached them. Casting a last glare at Gabe, Cas stalked off with them.

“If it makes you feel any better, Gabe,” said Dean. “I had almost the same conversation a while back.”

“How did it go?” asked Gabe.

“About the same. Lousy.”

“I could keep him here. I could stop him.”

“But you won’t.”

Gabe looked at Dean. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to: his expression said it all.

 

Sam was waiting tables for angels. Although they weren’t technically sitting at tables, since they were still mostly arrayed in the fields outside. 

Jo had handed him a milk crate filled with beer bottles and told him to do a round. Angels drank beer! It was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. Everything that had ever happened in his life before was wonderful.

“Nothing for me thanks,” said a familiar voice. Sam squinted at the pale, dark winged angel standing in front of him.

“Cas?”

At some point, Cas had removed his jacket and shirt and extended a broad pair of dark-feathered wings. And it had transformed him from a somewhat gawky kid to … this extraordinary creature.

“Is everything all right, Sam?” asked Cas.

“You’re so beautiful, Cas,” babbled Sam. “Everyone is so beautiful. Oh, that came out … weird.”

“Sammy?” asked Dean, who had just come around with Jo. “What the hell?”

“He looks blissed out,” laughed Jo.

“Some people are more affected than others by the sight of our wings,” Cas told them, giving his pair a good shake for emphasis. “They are a manifestation of our magic.”

“He’s coocoo for angelpuffs?” said Dean, grabbing away a woozy Sam’s crate of beers.

“Something like that,” said Cas. He snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face, but Sam didn't blink.

“I’m giving beer to angels!” said Sam.

“That’s nice Sammy,” laughed Dean.

“You may have noticed, even the wings … in that camp,” Cas said. “They still contain elements of our Presence.”

“Is that why Lucifer was collecting them, Cas?” asked Dean.

Cas nodded. “That might be part of his intent. Of course, that is nothing compared to the power of our true visages. For those of us who are still angelkind.”

“You don’t have a true form any more, right?”

“No, I have given up that power for this body. Humans may find the true visage of an angel … troubling,” said Cas. “Many humans, when confronted with my brothers and sisters in their true form, can find their eyes burned out, their eardrums burst, or some go completely insane.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant,” said Dean. 

“No,” said Cas. “Uh, Sam, while I do not mind you, uh, stroking my wings, it is usually customary to ask first?”

“They’re so soft,” said Sam, who had two hands full of dark feathers and a blissed out look on his face.

“OK. Sammy? This is not an angel petting zoo,” laughed Dean, grabbing his brother and pulling him back. 

“So soft,” repeated Sam.

“Come on, no molesting the angel,” said Dean.

“That’s your job, huh?” Jo asked Dean, and Dean shot her a grumpy look.

“Sam’s reaction is a bit out of the ordinary. It might be because there are so many of us, gathered together,” said Cas, who was peering intently at Sam.

“I’ll get him inside,” laughed Jo. “Don’t wanna see him humping anybody’s leg. Come on, you! Dean, would you see the brewskis are distributed?”

Dean nodded, setting down the milk crate. He took out two beers and handed one to Cas. 

“I didn’t want-“ Cas started, but Dean waved the bottle, so Cas took it.

“A last drink,” said Dean, popping the top off his bottle, and clinking it with Cas’.

“Dean,” said Cas. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“I don’t know. I just….”

“Look, I had this same fucking conversation a while back. With my brother. And that went over like Vietnam. So, I’m gonna try not to blow it this time.” Cas was staring at him, so he continued. “You’re gonna do a brave thing. Brave and really, really stupid. And I wish you wouldn’t. Because….” Dean trailed off. “But if you didn’t do it, I guess you wouldn’t be the person you are. And I think I’m in love with you or something. Boy, talk about things coming out weird.”

Cas didn’t reply, but just stepped forward and kissed Dean. And he did the thing where he wrapped the wings around him too. Which made Dean feel like how he felt that time in high school when he’d downed an entire bottle of vodka at a go. Well, how he felt before he started to throw up. 

“Um. Since you're royal and all that shit, should we be making out?” Dean muttered as they broke he embrace. Cas broke into a broad grin. And Dean found his heart was about to shatter.

“Come back,” said Dean. “Just…. Come back. OK?”

 

They flew faster than Sam had expected. Much faster. An angel in a hurry was less like a bird and more like a jet fighter. 

“A flock of angels,” he said. “Damn. This is just fucking amazing.”

“Remember it. You’re probably not gonna see it again,” sighed Gabe.

“He’ll be OK, Gabe,” said Dean.

“He’ll get his fucking wings sawed off,” said Gabe.

“Let’s keep a happy thought,” grumbled Dean. They watched the angels turn to a dark cloud, and the cloud disappear.

Sam heard dogs barking. Not dogs, hellhounds. “Crowley?” he asked.

“Well, what do you know? Start my day with angels, and now it’s demons,” said Ellen. Sam looked over to where she was heading. He recognized two people, Crowley and Rufus, and of course Crowley’s monstrous hellhounds. They were escorting a third figure, who also looked strangely familiar.

“Rufus?” hollered Ellen. She jogged the last few steps and warmly embraced Rufus. “Well I’ll be god damned,” she grinned.

“Haha, nice to see you Ellen!” laughed Rufus, who was now shaking Sam’s hand. “I had no idea your place was still standing after all that’s happened.”

“Harvelle's is gonna stand ‘til the end of time,” said Ellen proudly.

“You will forgive me for not coming in any closer, but the truth is, I can’t come in any closer,” said Crowley.

“That’s on purpose, demon,” warned Ellen.

“Yes, and thanks for that,” sighed Crowley. “But I had reports you have a little lost archangel or two in your midst.”

“How the hell did you hear that?” demanded Gabe.

“I have my sources,” said Crowley, smiling mysteriously. “And I thought perhaps he could do something about straightening out the head of my newest guest.” Crowley indicated the man he was currently holding by the shoulder.

“Frank?” asked Sam, who had finally recognized him. “Is that you?”

Frank looked up. Sam gasped. Behind the thick glasses, his eyes appeared milky, covered by cataracts. 

“Frank!” said Sam. “Frank! What happened to you?”

“Who is he, Sam?” asked Dean.

“Another prisoner,” said Rufus. “We used him for forgery.”

“He made my IDs, and my train tickets,” said Sam. “He was a paranoid bastard. Frank?” asked Sam.

Suddenly, Frank was grasping Sam by the shoulders. “Who is like God?” he demanded.

“What?” asked Sam. “Uh, God? God is God?”

“Who is like God?” asked Frank, the unseeing eyes staring.

“All we can get is Biblical babbling,” said Crowley. “Not exactly my speciality.”

“Do you think … Lucifer did this to him?” asked Dean.

“He would seem the logical suspect,” said Crowley. “Burnt eyes and scrambled brains generally equals grumpy archangel.”

“He fought the dragon!” blurted Frank.

“Wait a damn minute,” said Gabe. “Frank,” he said, dragging Frank away from Sam. He put a hand on his forehead. 

“A great prince will arise!” Frank told him. Gabe stared for a moment into Frank's sightless eyes.

“Michael?” asked Gabe. 

“He fights the dragon! With his angels.” And then Frank clutched his burned eyes and moaned, collapsing to the ground, where Sam and Rufus caught him by the arms.

“Frank, this is very important!” said Gabe, who was now down on his knees in front of Frank. “Did you see my brother? Did you see Michael?”

“The time of the End,” Frank whimpered. “He will arise.”

“I don’t think he saw Lucifer. I think he saw Michael,” said Gabriel.

“But I thought no one saw Michael?” said Sam.

“Exactly. No one sees Michael,” said Crowley.

“Not for years,” said Gabe. “Ellen?”

“Oh please don’t tell me you wanna do another stinky location spell!” said Ellen. She sighed. “Come on!”

 

Dean frowned at his cards.

“Fuck. I'm out,” he grumbled, tossing them down on the table.

“He really is rather terrible, isn't he?” asked Crowley, leaning back and studying his own hand.

“Told you,” said Sam.

“Don't get too comfortable, demon,” Ellen scolded Crowley, kicking his chair back up to vertical. “All those warding signs are going back up tomorrow.”

“Yes, and I deeply appreciate your kind if temporary hospitality, Mrs. Harvelle,” said Crowley, who did not appear flustered.

“So what's the deal with Lucifer?” asked Dean.

“Just a run of the mill spoiled brat, from what I understand,” said Crowley. 

“But he's committing genocide against the other angels!” said Sam. “Isn't that a little extreme?”

“To Lucy, those might not seem like angels,” mused Rufus. “They have to give up part of their power to grow a human body.”

“But that's not what Lucifer does?” asked Sam.

“Oh, hell no,” said Rufus. “He kept his true form. If you see him, he's walking around in a meatsuit. No different than our friend Crowley over here.”

“I’d say I’m a great deal different from Lucifer,” snorted Crowley.

“So, angels can possess people?” asked Sam.

“Yes, but not just anyone,” said Crowley. “There are rules.”

“Yes, because it's angels, there are whole books of rules,” said Rufus. “Fussy ass bastards. One can only inhabit vessels in a certain bloodlines.”

“Bloodlines? Sounds more like vampires than angels,” grumbled Dean.

“Or breeding dogs,” said Sam.

“What do you really think you look like to an angel?” said Crowley. Sam frowned.

“Actually,” said Rufus. “There's even tales that they will intervene in human mating to make sure they have the right bodies around.”

“OK, angels?” said Dean. “That's some weird ass shit.”

“I personally could not agree more,” laughed Crowley.

“Gabe? What's up?” asked Ellen. Gabriel had just come into the barroom where he sat himself at the table.

“Gabe?” asked Dean, pushing a beer over in front of the angel. Gabe picked it up and wordlessly downed it.

“What the hell, Gabe?” asked Sam. Everyone was now staring at him.

“Michael,” stuttered Gabe. “Michael is-” But he never completed the sentence, as he pitched forward on the table. 

“Gabe!” said Dean, jumping up and running around to him. “Whoa, he's out,” he told Sam.

“Uh, Dean,” said Sam.

“What?”

“Look around.”

Dean looked up from Gabe's unconscious body. Everybody in the bar: Rufus, Ellen, Jo, even Crowley, were now zonked out. “What the hell is going on now, Sammy?”

And then the lights flickered. Dean jumped as the light over the table hissed and burst in a soft tinkle of glass. 

“Uh, nothing good, Dean,” said Sam. More lights popped and crackled, until the room had sunken into darkness.

There was a huge flash of light outside, like ball lightning. 

And then the front door creaked open. A single, slim figure was silhouetted there.

Dean had already drawn his sidearm, even though he realized it would probably do no good. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Who do you think I am?” came the answer. There was something very familiar about the voice. The figure walked casually towards Dean and Sam, seemingly unhurried.

A panel of moonlight shown through the front window. The man walked into the patch of light, and Dean gasped.

“What is it?” asked Sam.

“Dad?” croaked Dean.

It was the spitting image of John Winchester. But not, Dean instantly realized, his father as he would look today. He had not a wrinkle on his face. This was the father he remembered from almost two decades ago, not changed nor grayed in the least.

“You probably realize that I am not John Winchester, although I bear his body,” said the man.

“Michael,” whispered Sam, who sunk back into a chair and then collapsed, along with the others, over the card table.

“Sammy? You OK?” Dean edged over, and put a hand on Sam's back.

“Your brother is all right. My presence is overwhelming to him. He is very … sensitive to angelic magic,” said Michael.

“Why are you here?” asked Dean. “Did you put everyone to sleep?”

“I bear an important message,” warned Michael. “So you will listen. Your brother is in danger.”

“Sammy? Why?”

“The Winchester family is very important. Very special. That is why I have kept myself hidden for many years. I did not want this secret to get out. I could not have Lucifer know about you boys.”

“What about us?” asked Dean.

“Our vessels are everything to us: our earthly sword and shield. John Winchester is my rightful vessel. If anything should happen to him, his son could serve in my stead.”

“Sammy?”

“No, Dean.”

Dean paused a beat. “What? Oh hell, no! I'm not anybody's goddam meat puppet!”

Michael smirked. “It won't be necessary. As your father already volunteered in your stead.”

“Jesus,” said Dean. 

“Also had nothing to do with it,” chuckled Michael. 

“That’s…. That’s what happened to Dad? All those years ago? And you couldn’t leave a fucking note?” said Dean, his voice going up in fury.

“It was a small concern in the grand scheme of things,” tutted Michael.

“A small concern? We were orphaned, you dumb bastard!”

“Silence!” growled Michael, who suddenly seemed to grow bigger. It was like there was an electricity around him. “Harken to me. Your brother is pivotal. For he is the true sword of Lucifer.”

“Sammy is.... Oh, fuck. No!” said Dean

“Up until now, my brother has been kept in the dark about this. However, thanks to my meddling younger brother's clumsy spellcasting,” said Michael, casting a glower at the sleeping form of Gabe, “the host now knows of my vessel. And we must assume Lucifer has become aware of Samuel Winchester's importance.”

“So you knew about Gabe?” asked Dean.

“Of course. I'm the one who let the idiot take off with Castiel. The removed themselves from my chessboard long ago. They are of no further consequence.”

Dean wanted to shove a consequence up this guy's ass, but instead, something occurred to him. “Wait, if Lucifer's supposed to be riding Sammy, what the hell is he doing now?”

“He has been exploiting a number of … substandard vessels. Generally, they have not proved satisfactory after a year or so. And the current one is nearly worn out.”

“They … get sick?”

“Generally, they explode.”

“Oh, gross!” said Dean.

Michael snickered. Dean shook his head. 

“That's amusing,” said Michael. “You are now thinking I am something called a 'douche bag.' Imagine what I must think of an uppity human who places his grubby hands all over my younger brother,” he sneered.

“And you're the good guy,” countered Dean.

“Good or bad. Much along those lines went out the door when my Father left.”

“And He liked Lucifer better, right?” taunted Dean.

“Silence!”

“You wanna shut me up, huh? Well, look, Mike. Me? I'm getting a little annoyed with you feathery types splattering your family issues all over creation. And I am really sick of you guys dragging in my family and my friends.”

“You mean to tell me what to do you insignificant little maggot?”

“Sticks and stones, Mike. How about this, before you smear the world with more of your family shit, why don't you go hash things out with your brother and fucking end it yourself?”

Michael was in Dean's face, staring him down. He hadn't exactly moved, he was just suddenly there.

Dean steeled himself and glared back. 

And then Michael was in the doorway. “I will handle my own family issues. Keep your brother the fuck away from Lucifer.”

There was a soft rustle of wings, and he was gone.

And Dean was left, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Goddammit!” Crowley had already leapt to his feet and was looking around. “I've been magicked. What the fuck happened?”

The others were moaning and rousing as well. Gabriel jumped up and ran to the door, looking out. “My brother! Was my brother here?”

“Your brother,” said Dean shakily, “Is a giant douche.”

“Yeah. That sounds like Michael,” sighed Gabriel.

“I thought I had the place warded against something like that,” sighed Ellen. “Goddammit. Jo, do we have replacement light bulbs anywhere?” she added, staring sadly at the darkened ceiling.

“What did my bastard brother want?” asked Gabe.

Dean cast a worried glance at his brother. “Sammy,” he said, “we gotta get you out of here. Now.”

 

Combat was nothing like what Cas had expected. 

He had taken on demons before, alone, in the desert. He had gone up against them two and three at a time.

But here they were everywhere around. And Dean was right, the other angels, they were brave and strong, but they were not warriors. He had spent the last part of the last couple of hours, silver sword in hand, trying to keep his brethren out of trouble. 

But now, out of the pain and chaos, there was hope. The tide turned. 

Victory was at hand. 

Cas was bloodied and battered and bruised, but, unlike some of his comrades, was still able to stand and to fly and most of all to fight. He watched the last of the demons fleeing, saw the last skirmishes, heard the scattered cheers go up. But he had a strange feeling, something gnawing in the pit of his human stomach. 

He broke off from the main group and circled down to where the train had halted on the tracks. It was the train Sam Winchester and Balthazar had witnessed at the station, the train with the strange, silent passengers.

The passengers.

Where were they?

The unsettled feeling boiled over now. “Balthazar,” Cas cried, not using his human voice, but the angelic voice in his head, the one he was still learning about. He knew so little about angels. He alit, and strode up to a train car, using his magic to throw the door open.

“Castiel?” asked Balthazar. He and some of his lieutenants had just come in for a landing. “What's going on?”

Cas ripped open another car. “The passengers, Balthazar. Where are the passengers?”

Balthazar looked in confusion. “There were people here! Just now!”

Cas had him by the shoulders. “Balthazar! We need to get out of here! Pull everybody out! Now! This is a trap!”

But both angels looked up.

The sky darkened.

 

“You sassed my brother? And he didn't turn you into a bug?” asked Gabe.

They sat around the barroom, watching as Sam and Jo slowly replaced all the burned out light bulbs. 

“I'm immune Gabe,” sighed Dean. “Turns out I'm his spare meatsuit, if our dad ever springs a leak.”

“This all sounds fairly amusing,” said Crowley. “I regret sitting it out.”

“Yeah, I'm glad the bastard knocked me out,” grumbled Gabriel. “I always hated that guy.”

“Our father. And I slept through it,” said Sam from high atop a ladder.

“It wasn't really our dad, Sammy. Not really,” Dean told him. “It was weird. Like watching a freaky puppet show. Or those freaky statues at Disney World.”

“Yeah, you wouldn't see me in one of those vessels. Creepy business,” said Gabe, who shivered.

“Dean, what do we do about your brother?” asked Rufus.

“Hey! I'm standing right here!” yelled Sam.

“You need to get your brother some place safe,” said Ellen. “And my place,” she continued, waving her arm at the shattered lights. “It's obviously not safe any more.”

“Back to Bobby's?” Dean asked. “That's a couple days drive.”

“I'll take him,” said Gabe. “Cas wasn't your only winged buddy, remember?”

“But how long will that work?” asked Rufus. “You say your friend Bobby is paranoid....” Dean nodded. It was a temporary move, he knew. Take Sam to No Man's Land, and then to the West, and then what? Where would Lucifer stop?

“Hey boss!” said Asmodeus, who had just popped up in the barroom.

“Oh, crap!” said Ellen. “I removed the warding for you, Crowley! This isn't a demon bar.”

“Apologize to the nice barkeep for being rude, Asmodeus,” said Crowley.

“Uh, sorry?” said Asmodeus.

“Good, now how is our little prophet?” asked Crowley.

“Frank? That's why I'm here,” said Asmodeus. “He went nuts a little while back. We finally got him settled down.”

“Yes, because Michael decided to share with us his angelic presence,” said Crowley.

“Michael?” said Asmodeus. “Whoa.”

“What do we do about Lucifer?” asked Dean. “Does anybody have any ideas?”

“There's just not much we can do, son,” said Ellen sympathetically. “You've seen what a fully loaded angel can do.”

“No!” shouted Gabe, who had jumped up, holding his ears.

“Gabe! What is it now?” asked Dean.

Gabe rested his hands on the table, breathing hard. “They’ve got him,” he whispered. “They’ve got Cas.”

“Now, Gabe, calm down,” said Dean. “It might be-“

“No,” said Gabe, tears streaming down his face. “I heard him. I heard him screaming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, if it's not obvious, Cas' weird heavenly form is very much indebted to Spacerocketbunny's true form Cas images. Check out their DA page for more awesomeness. They don't know who I am, so they're not responsible for anything here.


	7. Crusade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I've forgotten to say, thanks to folks who stopped and left kudos or comments along the way.

**Title:** Crusade (Perseides, Chapter 7 of 7)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.  
 **Warnings:** Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.  
 **Word Count:** 45,000 total  
 **Summary:** The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.  
 **Notes:** This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.

 

“Make no marks on the wings. I want them.”

“Yes, boss.”

Uriel grinned and greedily fanned out one of Cas' dark wings. “You'll be a lovely prize up on my wall when we're done with you,” he grinned, leering at the angel chained up in front of him. “The big boss made me abandon my lovely little trophy room. Did you see it? But it doesn’t matter. And don’t fret, I'll have only the best people mount them.”

Cas glared.

“Nothing to say, little prince?”

Cas was silent. Uriel punched him in the face, and Cas spat blood. And continued to glare.

“Did you knock the sense out of him?” Uriel asked one of the guards.

“He doesn't scream. He just … stares,” the guard whispered.

“It's kind of freaky, boss,” said another in a hushed voice.

Uriel cuffed both of them on the back of the heads. “Enough. Do your work. Even if he's not using his human voice, Michael will hear. We need the bastard to hear.”

“Will Michael come?” asked a guard.

“When we have a train load of hostages, including his own little brother? What do you think?” grinned Uriel. “Nephilim freaks they may be, but the nostalgic bastard is still protective of them.”

“Michael is nigh.”

“Lucifer!” said Uriel, whirling around at the sound of his leader's voice. He was instantly down on one knee, as were the two demonic guards. Demons were stupid, but not that stupid.

“Oh, Uriel, quit groveling. It's boring,” sighed Lucifer. 

Cas stared at his brother. Or rather, his brother's ruined vessel. “Meatsuit” was a vulgar demonic term, but this really did look like a stitched together flesh covering that was bursting at the seams. There were inflamed red patches all over Lucifer’s face, and a reddish fluid dripped down from one ear. The skin that was not mottled with infection was dead pale. His eyes were red-rimmed and completely bloodshot. 

Cas reflected that Gabe had always told him Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels. As well as their Father's favorite. He wondered, not for the first time, about his Father's mental health.

“Why, hello little brother! My, you aren't looking well,” Lucifer told Cas.

“I am looking better than you,” said Cas.

“Ah, it talks! And we all had come to the conclusion that you were slow,” smiled Lucifer.

“We had come to the conclusion that you are balls out insane,” Cas told him.

“Thank the Lord I didn't give up any grace for a permanent human suit. It obviously makes you simple.”

“What are you gonna do when you burst that zipper, Lucifer?” asked Cas.

“I have a solution, one you and your friends have so graciously brought right to my doorstep!” laughed Lucifer.

“What is that?”

Lucifer sidled close. “Sam Winchester.”

“What?” Cas’ mind reeled. 

Lucifer drew back, the better to enjoy the effect. “The future is clear. I will crush Michael, and then take the Winchester boy as my new vessel. And then I will reign for ten thousand years. Too bad you won't be around to see it. But I hear Uriel is going to get those lovely wings nicely mounted when this is all over.”

Uriel grinned and nodded.

“How are you going to defeat Michael, brother?” asked Cas, desperately trying to keep calm.

“Oh, look, he can talk politely,” grinned Lucifer. “Thinking of asking for a reprieve, dear Castiel?”

“You won't get it,” snapped Uriel.

“You know,” said Lucifer, “the reason we originally let you go, you and Gabriel, and nobody sought you out, was that none of us really liked you much. Fledglings are usually at least minimally attractive, in their clumsy way. But you?” Lucifer dramatically rolled his eyes.

“Lucifer. What are you planning for Michael?” Cas pressed.

Lucifer brought his lips to Cas’ ear. Cas cringed. Somehow, it was worse than the beatings. “Trust me,” Lucifer whispered.

 

“You're going to Bobby's, and no arguments this time,” said Dean.

“And how long am I gonna be safe there? Like Rufus says, No Man's Land is Lucifer's next move!” Sam protested.

They were both sitting on the hood of the Impala, waiting for Gabe. Truth be told, what Dean really wanted to do right now was get in and start driving and never stop. There had to be a safe place, somewhere, anywhere.

“Look, Sammy. Let me take care of one thing at a time, OK?” sighed Dean. “We gotta get you safe, and then we gotta go save Cas from Lucifer.”

“How the hell do you think you're gonna take care of Lucifer?”

“Sammy. OK. I dunno. I'm making this up as I go along. But between you and me? It's been all we can do to keep Gabe from zapping off to help Cas. Which would just get them both killed. If you don't wanna do this for you, at least do this for him.”

Sam leaned back and studied Dean skeptically. “I'm supposed to keep a pissed off angel busy?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Distract an antsy angel.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” sighed Sam.

“Are you ready?” asked Gabriel. He came marching out along with Rufus, Crowley and Crowley’s hulking dogs. Dean wondered if they had just had to talk Gabe out of fleeing again.

“Hey, sure, Gabe,” said Sam, hopping down from the car. “Uh, anything I need to do?”

“Wear a jacket,” snapped Gabe, who was already stripping out of his. He left his shirt and coat in a careless heap on the ground.

“Yeah, I've got a jacket on,” said Sam. 

“Then let's go,” said Gabe, who was suddenly, miraculously, winged. And then he had Sam in his arms. And then they were off, speeding incredibly fast, Grim and Barghest rushing off yapping after them.

“He might have recommended some Dramamine,” suggested Crowley, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Idiot dogs!” he called. “You are not going to catch an angel. Oh, why do I bother?”

“Damn, when they fly, those guys don't fuck around,” said Dean.

“The wings work by magic,” said Rufus. “In fact, anatomically, they shouldn't even be able to fly.”

“Another completely useless fact to brighten my life,” grumbled Crowley.

Dean watched them go until they disappeared. Magic wings. He remembered the gruesome trophy room at the death camp, and the weird electrical feeling in the room. “Wait,” said Dean. “Wait. I may have an idea.”

“What kind of idea? Oh, let me guess: reckless and stupid?” asked Crowley, patting his dogs as they rounded back.

“Yes,” said Dean.

“That's my favorite kind!” grinned Rufus. “Spill it, kid.”

“Did you guys ever see an old movie called Beau Geste?” asked Dean.

Crowley and Rufus looked at each other. 

They listened.

“Young man, that is thoroughly twisted and macabre!” said Crowley. “And I insist you let me help.”

 

“The boss wants you to see this,” said a guard. And then Cas was thrown to the ground, his chains looped through silver loops on the bare floor of this balcony overlooking a great courtyard of Lucifer’s palatial headquarters. 

Cas could only see through one eye, as the other was swollen nearly shut. As an angel, he always healed quickly. But not that quickly. He didn't try to raise his head. The floor was cool at least. 

Since they had stopped beating him he had to assume Lucifer's gambit had worked, and Michael was now approaching. In the gaps between the balusters he could see there was a group of angels chained up in the courtyard below. He wondered who they were, as he couldn't see the faces. Were they his comrades in arms? The vanishing train passengers? Both? Who knew? But that gathering would be as a beacon to Michael: so much angelic magic, concentrated in one place. 

He supposed he should probably be more curious than he was about Michael. Like Lucifer, Michael was an older brother, and one he did not remember. But all he felt was emptiness. No wonder Gabe had yanked him out of this life. His brother had been right: Cas had no stomach for it. 

He wished, for once, he had listened to his brother. He wished he had listened to Dean. He prayed neither of them would try to come after him. More lives wasted in this madness.

“Cas?” 

He heard the sound of the guards footsteps, and heard Balthazar's voice, but could not turn his head far enough to actually look at the other man. “My brother is coming,” Cas said simply. 

“Wondered why the buggers had stopped whaling on us,” came the reply. “Can you see what's happening.”

“Don't you feel it?”

The approach of an archangel is not something easily ignored. The ground trembled beneath his feet, though his steps were invisible, even to angels like Cas. Lights around the courtyard sputtered and then shattered. The air hummed with electricity. And then suddenly, he was standing, in the guise of John Winchester, a small, slim figure in the middle of the courtyard.

And then, just as abruptly, Lucifer was there too.

“Michael! How pleasant to see you,” cooed Lucifer. “And so unexpected. Thanks for dropping by.”

“You're looking well, brother,” sneered Michael. “What do you want?”

“No, it's rather, what do you want?” said Lucifer. “As you can see, I have rather a lot of guests today,” he explained, gesturing to the group of angels now huddled on the grounds of the courtyard between the two brothers. “Too many, sadly, for a hospitality even as large as mine. So, unfortunately, we may have to let some of these people go.”

“Then release them.”

Lucifer smiled with great cordiality. “Certainly. One one condition: your life for theirs.”

“Never.”

“Well,” said Lucifer, striking a match, “that's really too bad. Because, you see, I have them all sitting in a big pool of holy oil. You're familiar, I assume, with the effects of holy oil on angels? If not, a little demonstration-”

“No! Lucifer, are you mad?” said Michael.

“I am quite sane. But it comforts me so to hear you worry for my mental health.” He held up the match and watched the tiny flame dance at the tip. “Shame to waste all those lovely wings. Uriel is a big fan, you understand.”

“Lucifer, put down the match,” urged Michael. “We can talk about this.”

“Can we? We've had eons to talk, brother. Things just never seem to get resolved.”

“Lucifer.”

“It's no secret why I crave attention, being brought up in this dysfunctional family. I have a tendency to act out,” tutted Lucifer.

“Lucifer.”

“Antisocial personality disorder. That's what they call it.”

“Lucifer!” bellowed Michael. 

And then Michael took a step forward. 

“Put down the match,” Michael repeated.

“Anything for you, big brother,” grinned Lucifer, suddenly flicking the match at Michael. 

In an instant the ground beneath Michael's feet erupted in bright orange flames. Up overhead, Cas cringed as Michael threw his head back and screamed. The air suddenly stunk with the smell of burning flesh. Michael's entire body glowed orange, and then red, and then the courtyard was bathed in a glow of white light.

And then, Michael was no more. A scorch mark on the ground. A giant crack now ran all the way across the courtyard.

“So long, brother dear,” sighed Lucifer. “Will have to get those tiles fixed,” he added.

“Do you want us to unchain these angels?” asked one of his lieutenants.

“Hrm,” said Lucifer, taking out his matchbook. “Seems a great waste of holy oil.”

Up on the balcony, Balthazar asked, “Oh god, tell me he's not-”

Cas' attention was elsewhere though. “Balthazar,” he whispered. “Do you feel that?”

Balthazar tore his attention from Lucifer and cast out his senses. “Angels,” he said. “A whole bloody lot of them.”

Uriel had rushed down into the courtyard. “Lucifer!” he shouted. Lucifer, still holding the matchbook, listened intently. He seemed to forget about the matches as Uriel whispered in his ear.

“Quickly, everybody!” Lucifer shouted. “Forces are massing to the east! It must be their last stand! It's our chance to crush the Michaelistas once and for all! Rally around now! Come on!”

 

“Everything set?” asked Dean for the thousandth time. He surveyed the field. It looked like a scarecrow convention, lots of crudely made mannequins standing up everywhere.

“You're lucky we have people who can scrounge,” Rufus told him. They both watched a heavily laden truck pull up. 

“Here we go,” said Dean as Crowley jumped out and, together with his two massive dogs, strode forward. “Were you able to convince your people to help?” he asked the demon.

“They were all quite reluctant up to the point when I mentioned kicking Lucifer in the balls, at which point they became, well, if not enthusiasts, at least they evinced cooperation. Oh, and also, you are a lunatic.”

“Thanks, Crowley,” said Dean.

“You think it'll work?” asked Rufus.

“No, not in the least,” smiled Crowley. “But what it will do is annoy the hell out of Lucifer.”

 

Safe for the moment in No Man’s Land, Sam was awkwardly shaking Bobby Singer's hand. “I thank you for this, Mr. Singer.”

“It's Bobby. And you're brother's a good man,” he said. “Any kin of his is always welcome here.” He turned to Gabe, who had collapsed to a couch, head in hands. “Now, Gabe, I'm gonna fetch you a drink, and you're gonna tell me everything,” he told Gabe.

“There's nothing to tell,” sobbed Gabe. “They're torturing, him, Bobby.”

“They're sending a message,” said Bobby softly, sitting down on a pile of books across from Gabe. “This is how they want you to react.”

“Dean wanted to do a rescue mission,” said Sam lamely. “But, he had no fucking idea. Really.”

“They'll kill him,” whispered Gabe. He reeled as Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

“Gabe, listen to me,” said Bobby. “Those sad fuckers are not killing my boy. Now get your damn angelic head out of your ass, and we figure out a way. And we do it now.”

“Wait, Bobby, I have something,” said Sam.

“Well, spit it out, boy,” said Bobby.

“Bobby. Those symbols all over the wall are warding against everything, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When I was in the POW camp, I saw a guy try and escape. An angel, though I didn’t know it at the time. And it seemed like, well, there wasn’t much left of the poor bastard.”

Bobby nodded. “Kid, I've made a career out of picking up after sad bastards who tried to breach that wall. You think Lucifer would fall for that crap? Is that where you’re headed?” he asked. Sam nodded. “He’s crazy, not stupid.”

“But Bobby, we got the bait,” said Gabe, nodding at Sam, who nodded back.

“What?” asked Bobby. “No! We’re not gonna use you to bait Lucy, son. What if it doesn’t work.”

“Bobby, I’ve been listening to the other angels,” said Gabe. “Lucifer's vessel is busted. He doesn't just want Sam. He needs him. And soon.”

Bobby scowled at them. He put his head in his hands. And then he looked up. “All right. I might have a spell. Crazy damned bastards….”

 

Cas steeled himself for the pain. He kept his head down on the table he was chained to. He would not let these bastards see his tears. 

He heard the terrible high pitched squealing of the bone saw firing up. He had heard the screams of his brothers and sisters, and seen the lifeless bodies afterwards. Usually, you didn’t survive them taking your wings. 

Not that you’d want to.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” came the whisper in his hear. “This pair will decorate Master Uriel's trophy room.”

With some effort, Cas turned his head towards the voice.

He spat in the demon’s eye, and got punched in the head but good for it. Blood ran down his face, and he grinned at the demon. It reared back.

“Wanna fight? Loosen the chains?” Cas taunted.

“Take his wings!” the demon yelled. “Take them now!”

Cas turned his face back into the cool of the table. Broken and chained, and they still fear me, he thought. Perhaps it was not such a bad way to go.

And then a crash, and a scream. He heard the saw blade go whirring off in the wrong direction. Shouts and chaos.

“Don’t worry, Cas, we got you!”

“Dean!” said Cas. He turned his head back and blinked at Dean Winchester, who was, against all probability, currently peeking over the table.

More crashes and shouting. Dean ducked, and there was a scream of, “Oh god dammit!” that sounded very much like the demon Crowley’s voice. “I thought your brilliant diversion was supposed to send all the guards packing?” rasped Crowley.

“So they left a couple guys here? Who knew?” said Dean.

“A couple guys with bloody big weapons!” yelled Crowley.

Dean poked his head back up over the table.

“A rescue?” asked Cas.

“Uh. Yeah,” said Dean.

“Good job,” said Cas dryly.

“Unlock his bloody chains! I’m fucking bleeding here!” came Crowley’s cry. Dean was already taking out a lock pick. 

“Give us a minute,” Dean told Cas.

“I’ll wait right here,” Cas sighed. He heard a small click and felt some of the chains loosen.

“I thought you were good at this!” Crowley grumped at Dean. Another shot rang out, and they ducked.

“I thought you said you were a crack shot,” Dean told Crowley, jiggling at another lock. 

“I am even with only one arm, they’re just up on the bloody balcony,” grumbled Crowley, awkwardly holding his shotgun. He felt to where his arm was bleeding. “Damn! I liked this suit.”

“Almost done,” said Dean as another chain fell. Another shot whizzed by him. “Shit!” he cried, diving for cover again.

“Just loose the angel,” barked Crowley.

“Then it will be three of us pinned down,” said Dean.

“My dear Officer Winchester, have you ever witnessed an angel in full fighting mode?”

“He’s wounded, Crowley. We’re gonna have to get him out. Oh, there we go!” he said as the last chain fell. “Cas are you…?”

But there was no one on the table.

Dean turned his head to the sound of a scream: two soldiers went toppling off a high balcony.

“Ha! Serves you right, fuckers! Ruin my suit will you!” yelled Crowley.

A shot rang out. Dean ducked.

“That corner!” Crowley yelled.

Dean saw a dark blur hurtling towards the corner. Another demon screamed and fell to the floor.

A door opened, and two demons holding shotguns appeared.

“Oh shit,” said Dean.

And then a dark shadow was in back of the demons. Cas picked them both up by their collars and threw them clean across the room, where they fell, unconscious, in a heap.

Wings unfurled, blood dripping down his face and chest, Cas stalked across the room to where Dean and Crowley were still huddled.

Dean watched, amazed.

And, to be frank, sort of turned on.

“Is that all of them?” Cas asked.

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean, trying to restart his rather distracted brain. “Good job.”

“Thank you for the rescue,” said Cas, pulling Dean to his feet. He grabbed two shotguns off the fallen demons, tossing one to Crowley. “Stay behind us, Dean.”

“Wait just a damned minute!” said Dean, scowling and crossing his arms. “I'm here. This is my rescue plan. I'm pasting demons too!”

Crowley and Cas exchanged a look.

Just at that moment, and demon came charging into the room. Cas threw his rifle butt into its stomach, and then Crowley cracked it over the head. Crowley caught the gun as it fell, and handed it over to Dean. “There we go,” he said. “Better?”

“Yeah, actually,” grinned Dean, happily cocking the weapon.

“We've got to get clear of the headquarters before my teleportation will work again,” said Crowley as they began to walk.

“I don't think I can fly carrying two,” said Cas.

“So we'll fight our way out?” asked Dean.

“That seems the plan. Such as it is,” confessed Crowley.

 

A brace of demons clouded the air with a thick, pungent black smoke. They scented blood. Angelic blood.

They hurtled eastwards, towards the angelic forces massing against them.

“There they are!” somebody shouted. It was difficult to tell who, from within the writhing mass. “Dead ahead.”

There, down below, silhouetted in the breaking dawn, a mass of angels such as had rarely been seen on earth, wings unfurled, waiting.

“What are they waiting for?” someone else thought to ask. 

Lucifer, whose glorious Presence personally led the battle today, cried, “Charge!”

And the demons set upon them, diving low. 

“Why aren't they rising to meet us?” someone shouted. Angels preferred aerial battles. On the ground, this would be a slaughter. So much the better.

Demons have a heightened sense of smell, which somewhat makes up for dim eyesight. This is why several dozen of the winged beings were cut asunder before anyone noticed the wings were only dead things, sewn onto crude scarecrows. The prizes from the death camp, which had been so carefully preserved and laid out, had been lashed to hundreds of lifeless mannequins, standing silent guard in a field.

Lucifer, who had alit in the middle of the field, stood in impotent rage, his trophies now mocking him. “I'll kill them all,” he screamed.

“But they're already dead,” said one demon to another. The other demon didn't reply, as an enraged Lucifer turned and smote the both of them.

 

“This way?” asked Crowley.

“Do I look like a map of Satan's palace?” asked Dean.

“Someone ought pay attention whilst your friend is smiting things,” said Crowley, watching Cas once again make mincemeat of a brace of demons with his flashing sword. “Show off,” he told Cas when he again stood before them.

“We are low on ammo,” said Cas, expertly twirling the sword. “I don't need to reload this.”

“I was just telling our officer of the law that we ought reckon our location, vis-a-vis getting the hell out of here,” said Crowley. “Before Lucifer figures out he's been deceived and comes back in an even more rotten mood than usual.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Careful where we're headed. Wouldn't wanna wander into any place nasty.”

Cas kicked open a door.

Uriel stood before them.

“Tsk, talk about nasty,” quipped Crowley.

“Crowley, it's been a while,” growled Uriel.

“Not hardly long enough, if you want my opinion,” said Crowley.

“This dude's an angel?” asked Dean. “Maybe we should....” He gestured back out the door.

“You want my wings, Uriel?” asked Cas, heedlessly striding forward. “Why don't you come get them.”

“I'll take your heart as well,” said Uriel. Swords flashed and, when Cas stood back, Uriel had Cas' blade sticking out of his chest.

Dean gulped, but Uriel, despite the blood, remained standing.

“Idiot!” said Uriel, pulling out Cas' sword and dropping it to the floor. “You can't kill me with that!”

“I can't?” asked Cas.

“You need one of these!” said Uriel. He flashed his own sword and charged. 

“Cas!” shouted Dean. “Watch out.”

Cas waited, staring down Uriel. And then at the last moment he stepped aside, tripping the bigger angel.

Uriel fell, and Cas was on him, wresting the blade from his grasp and then jumping on top of him, stabbing him, once again, in the chest with his own sword.

This time Uriel shuddered. His body spasmed, and, as Cas hopped off, a white light poured out of his eyes and mouth.

And then he was silent.

“Thanks for the tip,” said Cas, calmly pulling the bloody blade out of Uriel's chest, wiping the blood on his pantleg.

“Is that an archangel blade?” asked Crowley, reaching out to touch it.

“Looks like,” said Cas, snatching it away with a warning look towards Crowley.

“Uriel was an archangel?” asked Dean.

“No,” said Cas.

“Wait. Then, how did he score one of the cool swords?” asked Dean.

“Probably pulled it off a dead archangel,” smiled Crowley.

“One of my family,” sighed Cas. 

“Wait, that doesn't make sense!” said Dean, waving at Uriel's lifeless body. “This guy was a pussy!”

“Maybe the murderer came as a friend,” said Crowley. “Oldest trick in the book.”

“Or maybe the murderer came as a brother,” said Cas. “Is something happening out there?” he asked. The room they were in now had a balcony, and Cas started to make for it.

“Mmm, yes, I smell angel. Live ones, not that bloke,” said Crowley, following Cas. Dean shrugged and walked after them.

The balcony overlooked the courtyard. And there was a commotion going on down below.

“Gabe!” said Cas. “What is he doing here?”

Dean hastened to the edge. “He's got Sam,” he said. “What the hell...”

“Lucifer, where the fuck are you?” yelled Gabe, who was holding a terrified looking Sam by the collar.

The ground trembled.

“Gabriel. You are a dead man,” said Lucifer, who now stood before Gabe in his oozing vessel. “Did you just send me on a wild goose chase?”

“Five words,” said Gabe. “I have Sam Winchester, asshole.”

“No, Gabe, don't do this!” said Castiel, who watched in horror from up above.

“I will strike you down!” warned Lucifer, extending a hand, palm forward.

“He's gotten smitey!” Dean told Cas. “Cas, we gotta do something.”

“Smite me, and you paste your new ride, dimwit!” laughed Gabe. And, giving Sam a tug, he zipped off into the sky like a manic shuttlecock.

“Everyone!” screamed Lucifer. “After them! I want Sam Winchester alive!” And then he was lost in a miasma of black smoke.

Dean stumbled back from the balcony, coughing. “Where is he going?” he demanded of Cas. “Where is he taking Sam?”

“I think I know,” said Cas, nodding at Crowley. “You said clear of the building?”

“I think so,” said Crowley. 

“Stay here,” Cas told Crowley. And then he had Dean under the arms and they were hurtling down into the courtyard in some kind of crazy barely controlled fall. Dean was too damned scared to even scream. 

“You still have that lock pick you used on me?” asked Cas.

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean, hoping he wouldn't puke.

“Unlock them,” said Cas, indicating the angels who were still massed in the courtyard. 

A shot ricocheted in the courtyard, nearly missing Dean. “What, all of them?”

“All of them.”

“You realize there's a sniper up there. Uh, where am I gonna-? Cas!” he yelled. But Cas was already winging his way back to the balcony. Cas grabbed Crowley and took off like a shot. Dean looked around nervously. “They could've left me more ammo,” he grumbled. He crouched and then, dodging sniper fire, ran over to where the angels were chained up. “Uh, I don't suppose any of you guys are soldiers?” he asked.

There were some looks exchanged. “I am,” said one. 

“Well, uh, that's good,” said Dean. He opened chains on that guy, and suddenly, he was gone. There was a scream, and then a thud, from one of the places shots had been coming.

“Crowley’s right, these guys are handy in a fight,” said Dean.

 

Sam was getting pretty fucking tired of being flown around. It was cool at first, but there really was a pretty distinct down side to flying. It was cold as hell, he thought he might be getting an ear infection, and then there were the bugs in your teeth.

Oh, and also, this time Lucifer and about a million of his demons were after him.

He squinted ahead. Goggles. If he ever had to do this again, god help him, he would remember to bring some damn goggles. And a nice warm wool hat. And maybe some long underwear, like the kind you take skiing.

“Are they close?” he yelled at Gabe, hoping he wouldn't swallow another bug.

“Close enough. Hang on.”

“Don't worry, nowhere else to go at thirty thousand fucking feet!”

Gabe laughed. “We're nowhere near that high, or you wouldn't be able to breathe!”

“Well don't go any higher!”

“There's the wall.”

Sam peered ahead. The first time, Gabe had taken him to one of the more deserted areas of the border, where the wall was nothing more than a chain link fence. They had actually alit, and scrambled underneath a portion of fence, after Gabe had paused to sprinkle on a few spells. But this looked like the backside of the highest portion, where the wall was all concrete and razor wire.

“Are they ready for us?” Sam pleaded.

“Don't worry!'

“I have nothing else to do but worry!”

 

“Do you like flying, Dean?” asked Cas.

“Shit! Don't sneak up on me like that, Cas!” said Dean, who had been standing in the same courtyard where Cas and Crowley had left him. There were empty chains at his feet. And it had gotten a whole lot quieter. “I think your angel buddies have this area secure. Where the hell did you go?”

“Dropping off Crowley,” said Cas. “He’s going to teleport to Ellen’s place to let them know what’s going on. And you didn't answer my question.”

“Judging from you yanking me off the balcony? I fucking hate flying. And also, I hate it.”

“Oh,” said Cas. He peered at Dean. “Well, there's no other way,” he said, grabbing Dean under the armpits and taking off.

“Why did you ask?” shouted Dean as they ascended.

“Wanted to be polite,” Cas told him. “Short trip.”

“Shit.” The ground was rushing by at a dizzying pace, so Dean squinted ahead. He utterly despised flying and had no fucking idea how his idiot brother got a notion in his head to become a pilot. But this: this was very different. It came fast, like a video game, but there was added the soothing rhythmic beat of wings. He remembered Rufus' comment that there should be no way for an angel to actually fly, and did not take comfort from this knowledge.

“So where the hell are we headed?” Dean asked.

“Harvelle’s.”

“Gonna clarify?”

“Busy flying.” And Dean had to imagine the grin. He spotted something in the distance. It was another group of angels. They paced themselves with Cas and flew closer.

“Got a passenger?” asked Balthazar.

“Didn't get your wings?” Cas asked.

“I'll keep them!” Balthazar laughed. “You the one who got Uriel?”

“Got Uriel. Got his sword.”

“Good boy!”

Dean noticed there were more angels around him now. “Did you guys send out the Bat signal or something?” he asked.

“Lucifer's in flight,” said Cas. “World's biggest Bat signal.”

“We're gathering reinforcements at Harvelle’s,” Balthazar told Cas. “And I'm supposed to pass on a message. From your brother. Bobby says hi.”

Dean suddenly felt Cas' arms tighten around him. “Come on,” he whispered to Dean, and then he saw Harvelle’s in the distance.

“Tell me we’re landing,” said Dean, but then they were already on the ground. “Oh, thank God!” he sighed. The roadhouse was a hive of activity.

“Yeah, those too. They might come in handy,” Ellen was yelling at a couple of guys bearing a crate. 

“You heard then?” Cas asked her.

“Cas!” she shouted, giving him a quick hug. “Yeah, Lucifer’s making for the wall, and we’re gonna meet him with everything we’ve got.”

“Gabe used my brother … on purpose?” asked Dean. “Oh, god, Sammy!”

“Your friend Bobby has a plan to trap Lucifer on the other side of the wall,” said Ellen. 

“Bobby is lacking in sanity!” said Cas proudly.

There was a whiff of sulfur, and Crowley appeared. “Oh, not more crates! I have a tricky back!”

“It’s needed, Crowley!” said Ellen.

“All right, but there better be some nice whiskey in it for me. Asmodeus!” he yelled, a second or two before the demon had actually appeared at his side. 

“Yeah boss?”

“More crates to the wall.”

“Got it boss,” said Asmodeus, heading towards the crates and then disappearing, along with them.

“He’s zapping people to the wall now?” asked Dean, gazing longingly at the Impala, which was still parked in Ellen’s parking lot.

“Sadly, there is not sufficient time to drive, Dean,” Cas told him. He looked to the sky. “I should get to the wall and help my brothers.”

“Wait a minute, Cas. Crowley!” said Dean.

“Yes, what is it?” the demon asked Dean, clearly happy to be relieved of crate transportation duty for a moment.

“Sammy was in the air force, and he told me they used to fly planes over the wall. You just have to paint on the right squiggles.”

“Oh, yes, the correct warding signs would counter the effect of the protection spells,” said Cas. “But how would you take a car…?” he trailed off as Dean grinned at him. “Oh you’re not going to plead with me to transport that battle tank actually _through_ the wall are you?” groused Crowley.

Dean shrugged. “I thought you were the king demon or something.”

Crowley scowled. “Now you are appealing to my vanity?”

“Sure. Why not?” Dean grinned.

Crowley heightened the intensity of his scowl, but was only met with a smile.

“All right, get in,” he grumbled.

“Cas!” shouted Dean. “Quick! Lose the wings and grab a paint can.”

 

“OK, Sammy. Your career as live bait is about to come to an end.”

“I hope that's a good thing Gabe!” Sam shouted. He was fucking freezing. 

“Arms and legs inside until the angel comes to a full and complete stop.”

“Quit wisecracking and fly!” yelled Sam. But then, mercifully, he was on the ground. 

“You seen Lucy?” asked Bobby, who was standing nearby, monitoring a pair of binoculars.

“He was right on my ass,” said Gabe.

They all turned and watched anxiously for a long moment. The wall loomed overhead. It seemed especially tall today, as there was a menacing bank of dark clouds just overhead. But at one point, there was a distinctive gap in the clouds that shown through blue sky.

The ground rattled and lightning crashed. Lucifer had come through the gap.

Bobby threw a towel over the pot of weird and fragrant ingredients he'd been burning, extinguishing the flames. He looked up, grinning. “Take that, motherfuckers,” he whispered.

And then, as if a flame was snuffed out, the opening in the clouds just above the wall suddenly zipped up tight.

Some of the demons, mostly the ones closest to Lucifer, did not or could not slow down, and passed right though the dark cloud, following Lucifer. Their screams were heard for miles as every enchantment that Lucifer had so painstakingly built into his wall suddenly came crashing down upon them, and eyes boiled and skin fried and hearts exploded and entrails came sloshing out mouths and anuses. It was glorious and bloody disgusting. 

The next wave of demons scattered and reversed, the dark miasma of their presence breaking like a wave on a beach. They turned.

And came face to face with an angry legion of angels.

Down below, on the Eastern side of the wall, Jo Harvelle jumped up on a packing crate. “Everybody! Loose everything! Everything! Now!!” she screamed. Suddenly there was a cacophony of Latin, Enochian, Greek, Cantonese, Gaelic, Hindi, Persian, Navajo, Tagalog, and just about any other tongue used in the human or spirit world. Demons screamed and fell out of the air, victims of every anti-demonic spell the world had ever known.

 

Lucifer and a very few of his demons alit in No Man's Land, where they encountered a rather motley assortment of humans bearing shotguns. 

Lucifer strode forward as, by his side, several of his demons fell to the salt buckshot. He walked right up to one of the gunmen, sighed and plucked her rifle from her. And then he twisted it in a pretzel and tossed it away.

And then with a sweep of his arm, sent a whole line of gunmen flying.

“Gabriel. I believe you have something for me.” Gabe was standing in front of Sam Winchester, as if that would do any good. “Oh, come on, I've flown all this way. I might get cranky.” Lucifer glared. “How about now, little brother.”

“You're not my brother,” said Gabriel, who was holding a sword.

“Well, then, I'll feel much less guilty when I smite you.” Lucifer grinned and flicked his hand, and Gabe went flying. “Hello, Sam. Time you and I got better acquainted.”

“Never,” said Sam.

“Sadly, you don't have much choice in the matter.”

Lucifer screamed as he was knocked 20 feet by a 1967 Chevy Impala that had just appeared out of nowhere.

The car was covered from bumper to bumper in sigils.

Dean jumped out of the driver's seat.

“Whoa, talk about good timing,” said Sam.

Cas jumped out of the back. He flashed the archangel sword he had stolen from Uriel and flew at Lucifer, who seemed disoriented. Lucifer flicked out a blade of his own, as Cas was standing too close for him to easily flick away. 

“Cas, be careful!” Dean shouted.

“Stab him in the balls!” called Crowley.

“Is that useful?” asked Dean.

“I just so despise Lucifer,” confessed Crowley.

Lucifer was stronger, but Cas was much quicker, and, after snapping Lucifer's blade away, Cas stabbed his brother through the chest. He stepped back.

Lucifer glowered. “You idiot,” he growled. He grabbed the blade, pulled it out of himself and cast it aside. 

“I am having terrible fucking luck today,” Cas sighed. 

“You can't kill me with an archangel blade. You're not an archangel. You're a pathetic piece of trash!” 

“You know what? You have far too many damn rules for these swords!” Cas grumbled, crossing his arms defiantly.

Lucifer made a sweeping gesture and Cas flew back, slamming into the Impala's fender.

“Gabe!” shouted Bobby. “Now!” 

Gabe flew up behind Lucifer, grabbed him under the arms and dragged him about ten feet. Lucifer wrested free and easily tossed Gabe aside.

Then Bobby tossed a lit match to the ground near Lucifer's feet.

Lucifer looked in confusion at the circle of flames now licking around him.

“In case this is news to you, buddy, that's holy oil,” grinned Bobby

“I wouldn't try to cross it,” said Gabe. “Of course, who am I to offer advice to my all-knowing older bro?”

“I won’t forget this, Gabriel!” Lucifer told him.

“God, I hope not,” grinned Gabe.

“You're under arrest, Lucifer,” said Sheriff Jody Mills, who arrived brandishing a shotgun.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity around Lucifer. Men carried in a large old desk and chair, and other random people were bringing in deck chairs and picnic blankets, along with packed lunches and even a beach ball.

“What the hell is going on now?” demanded Lucifer.

“Legal proceedings will ensue,” said Jody.

“All rise!” barked the bailiff. The crowd rose to its feet. “The court of the Honorable Judge Albert Swearengen, Magistrate of the Southwest Division of the Union of Unincorporated Free Territories, is now in session.” A black-robed figure sauntered in and sat down at the desk, bringing out a flask and setting it on the desk beside his gavel.

“I demand to know what's going on,” yelled Lucifer.

“If you're Lucifer,” said Swearengen, banging his gavel, “then you, sir, are now on trial for crimes against humanity and angelkind, and the murder of your family members. Swift justice!”

“This is an outrage!” said Lucifer.

“Lucy, I got one rule in my court of law,” Swearengen told him. “Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”

“I don't even have a chairl!” Lucifer barked.

Someone tossed a folding chair into the circle of holy fire. It hit Lucifer in the head.

 

Lucifer had, in the end, refused to sit in the chair, and so sat sullenly, cross-legged on the ground in the middle of the holy fire, where an honor guard of angels now stood in watch along with Jody.

At one point, someone had tossed the beach ball to him. He had burst it, which did not aid his already low standing with the local crowd.

“Is this trial gonna take a long time, your honor?” Dean asked Swearengen, who was standing taking a long drag from his flask, leaning back against his desk.

“I guaran-fucking-tee it, son,” grinned the judge. “See that you don't bust that body before we're done, there, Lucifer,” he taunted. “I got witnesses coming in from hundreds of miles.”

Lucifer glowered, but said nothing. Swearengen chuckled and walked away.

Dean bumped shoulders with Sam, and they both walked away from Lucifer. “God. It gives me the shivers just looking at him,” said Sam.

“Worse than clowns?” grinned Dean.

“He was gonna wear me around? Like I'm a Muppet or something?”

“Hey, I dig Kermit,” laughed Dean. “It's not easy being green.”

“What if he gets out, Dean?”

“Well, according to Bobby, he doesn't have a lot of time left in that guy he's wearing.”

“I'd just feel better if I were somewhere away from here,” said Sam.

“You wanna go back home?” asked Dean.

“Well, I dunno,” said Sam. “Wouldn't seem much like home if you weren't there. And the West, you know.... They're rebuilding.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You're not fixing on looking up that demon girl, are you?”

“What? Who? Me?”

Dean raised his eyes heavenwards in time to see Gabe and Cas landing nearby.

“We got Lucifer's forces pretty much routed on the other side,” Gabe reported.

“And people have already begun to tear down the wall,” said Cas.

“So, what are you gonna do when this is over?” Dean asked Gabe.

“What do you mean?”

“You gonna go back to the strip mall, be a local shaman?” asked Dean.

Gabe shook his head. “Uh, no, stupid as it sounds....” He trailed off, and pointed upwards.

“You’re going back up?” asked Dean.

“Yeah, gonna see if there’s anything left in heaven,” sighed Gabe. “A bunch of the guys wanna go with me. I mean, the few guys we have left.”

“You don’t gotta, you know,” said Dean.

“Yeah, I gotta,” said Gabe. “They think I’m their fucking leader now! Dumb shits. I mean, would _you_ follow me? Because, I sure as hell wouldn’t follow me!”

Dean smiled. “I think you’ll do OK.”

“I will suck major balls!” said Gabe, who sighed deeply.

“So,” said Dean, turning to Cas. “Are you, uh, going with him?”

Cas started to speak, but looked uncertain. He glanced at Gabe, and then glanced back at Dean, his eyes wide. “I…”

“No no no no no no no!” said Gabe, putting an arm around Cas. 

“No?” asked Cas.

“Naw, kid, you gotta stay here. That’s one lesson we learned, can’t keep the whole family in that crap ass palace. You need to stay down here. Be my eyes and wings! I’ll appoint you my royal ambassador for … earthly crap, or something.”

“Can I still work for Bobby?” asked Cas.

“Yeah, sure, don’t quit your day job. I got no idea how long this angelic goddam prince gig will last before the proletariat goes all 1917 on my ass.”

Cas smiled. “I guess I’ll stay down here,” he told Dean.

“Aw, shit!” said Gabe, who suddenly had a far off look. “We got some black-eyes. Come on, bro. We’re needed again.” Gabe didn’t wait, but zipped off. 

Cas lingered a moment. “I’ll, uh, see you later, Dean?”

“Better believe you will,” grinned Dean. Cas grinned too, and then he was a dot in the sky.

“Well, I figured it would happen,” said Bobby.

Dean turned. “Oh. Uh. Bobby. Hey. I didn’t see you walk up.” His grin turned to a blush. “Uh. I dunno if Cas told you….”

“Boy doesn’t need to tell me anything, ya dumb shit,” sighed Bobby. “I could tell from the instant he carried you back to my home. Well, good for you. But I’ll tell you a couple interesting facts about angels, as you may not know. One is they mate for life…”

“Oh,” said Dean.

“And the other is they ain’t favorably inclined about sharing.”

Sam burst out laughing, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Awesome! Bobby, that is just perfect.”

“Well, uh, OK,” said Dean, who was looking rather perplexed. “Uh, is there anywhere around here I could get beer? I think I need one. Or two or seven.”

“Come on,” said Bobby. “Guess you boys are family now….”

 

Many days later, Cas leaned back and followed a shooting star across the night sky.

“Still trying to catch one?” asked Dean. He tightened his grip around the angel, who was lying in his lap the hood of the Impala. Cas had finally been convinced to change out of the threadbare suit, but was still wearing the big overcoat Gabe had given him.

“I am thinking. About my brother,” said Cas.

“Have you heard from him? What’s it like? Up there?” asked Dean.

“Gabe says it’s … tacky.”

“Wait, tacky?”

“Everything’s gold or silver, there’s red carpets, flocked wallpaper….”

“Ha! Heaven is decorated like a whorehouse?”

Cas blinked. He felt Dean jerking with laughter. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Also, there is no ice cream.”

“No ice cream in heaven? Aw, so it must be hell for Gabe.”

“Perhaps I shall go and bring him some licorice.”

“Am I interrupting anything?” asked Sam, who hopped up on the hood beside them without waiting for an answer.

“Would you care if you were?” asked Dean.

“So, I was talking to Rufus…” Sam continued.

“How can you even see that guy through all the cigarette smoke?” grumbled Dean.

“I guess he hit it off real well with Bobby,” said Sam.

“Yes, they are thick as thieves,” said Cas.

“And anyway,” said Sam, “Rufus tells me Ellen is trying to gather together what hunters are still around. Still a lot of ex-Luciferites on the loose, causing trouble.”

“How is this of relevance to my life?” grumbled Dean.

“We could offer assistance,” said Cas. “Gabriel has said he wishes me to monitor conditions down here.”

“And you listened to Gabe?” asked Dean.

“Rufus says there’s been skirmishes between Crowley’s people and the black-eyes. Zachariah is rumored to be still at large, so it’s thought they’re organizing under him.”

“Wait,” said Dean. “So we’d be jumping in the middle of a gang war? Between angels and demons?”

“Yep!” said Sam. 

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” Dean told him.

“This sounds like an acceptable occupation,” said Cas.

“For who?” asked Dean.

“Me and Cas!” said Sam.

“Perhaps if you play your cards right, we will allow you to be our driver,” Cas told him.

“Dean is an awful card player,” said Sam.

“That is true,” said Cas.

Dean heaved a sigh. “I’m supposed to drive you guys around while you….”

“Save people!” said Sam.

“And hunt demons,” concluded Cas.

Dean considered this for a while. “OK. I get to pick the music. And no ice cream in the car!”

“Deal!” said Sam, who slipped off the car. “You guys can continue with whatever you were doing.” He headed inside.

“What were we doing again,” said Dean, who pulled Cas around to face him.

“I was catching falling stars.”

“I already got one,” grinned Dean.

Cas blinked at him. 

“What?” said Dean.

“That’s a little clichéd, isn’t it?”

“Too fucking bad. You’re stuck with me.”

Cas grinned. And kissed him.


End file.
